


my heart tells me you are lonely, too

by FanGirling



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Sarah Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Dissociation, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hydra (Marvel), Irish Sarah Rogers, M/M, Men Crying, Mentions of Cancer, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Bucky Barnes, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rating May Change, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Surgery, Surgery recovery, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, slowest of slow burns, so much crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 43,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23108275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanGirling/pseuds/FanGirling
Summary: Bucky sinks into the chair. His ass is falling asleep.“So I just have to, what, learn to be more human?”Sam tries to hold back his sigh but Bucky notices it anyway.//Bucky Barnes is still in recovery from his time with Hydra when he moves into an apartment in Brooklyn. Tony Stark has his metal arm in Manhattan and poor Sam tries his best.But then he meets the neighbors, Sarah Rogers, and her son, Steve, and just maybe they can teach him what it means to live again.(I'm bad at summaries.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sarah Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 502
Kudos: 819





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first Stucky fic. 
> 
> I have an obsession with Shrinkyclinks and, basically, I wanted to write a fic with my favorite tropes because I'm selfish that way. This started as some small niggle in the back of my head and now there's 20,000 words written so far so, y'know, there's that. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Suicidal Ideation, Canon-Typical Violence, Poor Mental Health... Bucky is hella depressed. 
> 
> More trigger warnings will follow for each chapter. (And let me know if I've missed any!) 
> 
> Title from 'I'll Walk Alone' by Dinah Shore:  
> "I don't mind being lonely  
> When my heart tells me you are lonely, too"

Bucky moves into his new apartment with two boxes and a duffel bag. There was some shitty furniture already in the small apartment when he viewed and he paid extra to keep it as it is. He's sure he paid over and above whatever the shitty couch was worth but it meant he didn't have to try to lug whatever necessary shit up four flights of stairs by himself with one arm. 

_Whose fault is that?_

It's relatively small but neat and safe with multiple locks on his door and it’s a month-by-month lease so he can fuck off with relative ease. It's in a nice enough part of Brooklyn – thanks gentrification – and he figured that money wasn't an object since Stark bought his arm and seventy years' worth of army back pay. He had a fuckton of whatever funds he may need until his dying day. 

And he _had_ hoped that would be sooner rather than later. Sam says he's suicidal. But Bucky googled it and _actually_ he has suicidal ideation. So there. 

The bed in his new apartment is shit and the mattress dips in the middle – _it's no metal slab_ – but he's had worse so he shrugs and spends the first two hours of his occupancy purchasing sheets and antibacterial cleanser and whatever other necessities online. 

He glances out the window and sighs at the fire escape, the main reason he wanted the apartment. It's less a fire escape and more a balcony – for what he intends – the sightline is good and he can rig it pretty well where only he can sit comfortably against the cracking concrete and – 

There's a deep, joyful laugh from his next-door neighbor, followed by several seconds of sweet tinkling laughter. 

The Soldier - _Bucky's_ – heart falls from panic mode to relieved in .075 seconds and he can't help but smile a little. He likes the sound of happiness. Of pure joy. 

_Caught off-guard. Minimal push-back._

His smile falls, however, when he glances at his duffel and recalls the several identical cards he has written that he must share with those he deems necessary. He takes them from the side pocket and dispenses them carefully on the bookshelf, beside where he intends to stack his various second-, third-, fourth-hand books that he has acquired over the last while. Books that he collected on the recommendation of various 'Books of the Century' lists and 'Classic Literature' blog posts. He's halfway through _On The Road_ and feels like he'd be better off reading the Chinese menu that was stashed in his mailbox when he moved in but his ma didn't raise a quitter.

_You quit your arm. Hail Hy –_

With one of those cards in hand, Bucky leaves his apartment with his breath stationary in his lungs and sweat beading at his hairline. He keeps his back to his door and breathes the way Sam taught him – in for four, hold for five, out for six – before he moves to the apartment directly beside his own. 

He knocks the door while trying not to crush the card in his hand and hears shuffling afterward. Maybe he should've just waited until he knew no one was home, maybe he could have just shoved it under the door and – 

The door swings open to reveal a boy – _blonde, approx. 5'4”, approx. 102lbs, easy target_ – 

Bucky stops himself, tearing his eyes away from the way his brain automatically scans any human (or otherwise) within the vicinity. He stares at the floor and feels his body tremble. 

“Hi,” the boy whispers, unsure. Without looking, Bucky can feel the way the boy looks around, perhaps catching the eyes of the other person in the room. 

Bucky continues to stare at the ground before wrenching his hand away from his body and holding the card out towards the boy. 

By now, The Soldier – _Bucky_ – is sure that the boy has noticed his lack of an arm and with the various other absolute fucking minefields radiating from his person, the card is hardly necessary. The boy takes it gently, prying it from his clasped fingers that just will not fucking open the way they are supposed to. 

Bucky waits, head bent, he can't stop the way the hand shakes at its – _his_ – side. 

The boy's voice is soft but unwavering. 

“Do you want me to read this now, with you here?” His accent is Brooklyn born and raised, a long, soft drawl that can't be faked. Like _hot cement under bare feet, brawling dockhands, newspaper bales landing on the pavement -_

Tears inexplicably spring to Bucky's eyes but they won't fall. _It can't cry._ He won't let them. He just nods. 

The boy glances down at the card in his hand and carefully turns it over in deft, precise fingers. _Possibly works with hands. Weak point._ His movements are steady as he reads. 

“'Hi, my name is J-” 

“No!” Bucky cuts him off. The boy jumps and he realizes that his voice is more animal than human, more _machine than man_ , more a command than a request. His voice is a whisper over a sharp divot, “please. N-not out loud.” 

The boy just nods, eyes – blue, very blue, cerulean _or like a summer sky over Coney Island_ – and glances back down, reading the card silently. His lips roll into his mouth, between his teeth, and his brows furrow deeply – tense, hiding, secretive, uncomfortable – before he glances back up again and those eyes. _And there's heat on Bucky's skin, salt in the air and the Cyclone and ice cream on his fingers –_

“Thank you for sharing this with us,” the boy murmurs, glancing back as if to let Bucky know that there was another person in the room. _Female, probably older, perhaps related, small like the boy_ – “you didn't have to but I appreciate it.” 

The boy smiles then, perfect white teeth framed by plush pink lips. Pink from good genes and not the remnants of blood, _bloodied with the strike of a fist across –_

Bucky can't look away as the boy holds his slim hand out – _vulnerable_ – and smiles sweetly, innocently, his pale cheeks showing color. 

“I'm Steve. Steve Rogers.” He glances down and his eyelashes are long, longer than Bucky has ever noticed on a person before, and dark brown, unlike his hair. “My mom is Sarah and, eh, we've lived here a super long time so anything you need or, or need to know...” 

He trails off and Bucky knows he should do something. With Steve's hand outstretched – _fragile_ – and his young face upturned but Bucky just nods and turns, military straight without meaning to, before marching back down the faded linoleum floors to his apartment. The key shakes in his hand, his fingers trembling and he can feel the boy's eyes on him from where he's looking out his door and Bucky wants to just get inside where it's safe and he has scoped out the entrances and sightlines. 

He slams inside – triple locking the door which will do until he can fit more – and sequestering himself away behind the kitchen bar, between the refrigerator and stove and the safest place away from windows and roaming eyes. Bucky presses his face to his knees and shudders. 

Bucky goes over the wording of the card in his head. Sam had helped, of course, but wouldn't help too much because he's a fucking asshole and Bucky needs to learn to _human_ or whatever. 

_Hi, my name is James. I am a war veteran and will sometimes have outbursts due to diagnosed PTSD. Please excuse my sporadic hours and sometimes loud outbursts. I will attempt to keep them under control but ask you to bear with me as I continue to improve. I will try to answer any questions but find Sam's number on the refrigerator if I am unresponsive._

Of course, it was all Sam’s doing and Bucky wanted to shove those cards down his neck – _how long until suffocation_ – but it was better than nothing and he figured he owed it to him with the, y'know, ripping his wings off and shit. 

Five things he can see – the stove, the floor, his hand _his metal arm is gone and residing with Tony Stark aka Iron Man. Son of Stark, Howard. Level 7 SHIELD agent – ex-Shield agent. Kill on sight._

Sometimes – many times – the grounding exercises don't work. He's spiraling and the ground feels soft beneath him and he could fall right through the cracked tiles, shriveling and tearing at scarred skin and his head is heavy and it won't stay sitting upright on his neck like the thoughts are crushing him and they are going to drag him down into - 

There's a knock at the door. His eyes focus and it's a lot darker than it was before. _Estimated four and a half hours dissociation._ Bucky pulls a handgun from a hiding spot beside the stove before he approaches the door. He stares beyond the peephole and sees there is no one there. _That means nothing._

The soldier – _Bucky_ – stands to the side and listens as a door nearby shuts quietly and then silence. He holds the gun in his hand and unlocks the numerous – _not enough_ – locks on his door before opening silently. 

The hallway is empty except for a baking dish in front of his door. Food – _bomb_ – his brain helpfully supplies before he bends down and pulls it into his apartment. He relocks the door and stares at the tray. It's still warm and the smell hits him – chicken parmesan – and his stomach growls in a way it hasn't in recent memory. He collapses to his knees and stares at the foil-covered dish. 

Before the Soldier can intervene, Bucky is fingers deep in the lukewarm dish, hand covered in cheese and chicken and he doesn't stop until the plate is clear of all edible nourishment. 

Bucky returns to his spot between the stove and refrigerator and attempts to sleep. 

##

Upon waking, Bucky orders multiple groceries to be delivered to the apartment next door for Steve Rogers – _target unknown, threat unknown_ – which includes food and other household items that Google deems 'necessary'. 

##

Every few days, a baking tray filled with some warm cheesy concoction appears in front of his door and he eats it without preamble. He eats on the floor, directly in front of the door, until a few weeks later when he realizes that he doesn't need to eat on the floor anymore – _just a weapon that eats like an animal_ – so he uses a fork and stands in the kitchen. 

He hasn't sat at the table yet. 

Every time he finishes another gooey and satisfying meal, Bucky will immediately order groceries for Steve Rogers. He's sure it isn't Steve that makes the food and he knows that his mother's name is Sarah. However, without a formal introduction, Bucky won't use her name. Something instilled deep in his brain tells him that his ma wouldn't allow that. He can't really remember her face but he remembers _respect_. 

He's started partaking in gym sessions with Sam – he doesn't really see the point with _one fucking arm_ \- but Sam assures him that's good for his mental health. Except when he's been doing chin-ups with _one fucking arm_ and doesn't have the energy to donkey-punch Sam in the neck. 

Bucky returns from one of these particularly smelly sessions and is checking his mail when the front door opens and Steve walks in. Bucky's heart drops. He's disgusting and he doesn't want Steve to see – or smell – him like this. 

Not that it would mean anything. Not that it's just _Steve_ , he wouldn't want anyone to see him like this and had hoped to get inside his apartment door before another human had to stand in the vicinity of him and smell him and how his clothes are glued to his body and his stump is _just there_ and – 

“Hi, James!” 

Bucky glances over and Steve's face is tinged pink, a healthy flush on his cheeks, eyes sparkling. He takes a deep, fortifying breath. 

“Hi, Steve.” 

Steve fiddles with his keys before walking towards his own mailbox. Bucky can feel the tension. He doesn't know if he's supposed to leave and go straight up to his apartment. Is that rude? Should he wait for Steve so they can walk up together? But maybe Steve doesn't want that. 

The envelopes in Bucky's hand crinkle as his fist closes unbeknownst to himself. 

_Two heartbeats. The Soldier's plus Target's. Arrhythmia. Weak heartbeat. Easy targ –_

“No!” 

It's Bucky's voice that made that sound and he starts to shake. Steve is staring at him – _anxiety detected_ – but Bucky can't look at him. 

“James,” Steve whispers but Bucky shakes his head, breathing growing erratic. “Are you – ?” 

_Target breathing compromised. Temperature raised. Likelihood of death caused by Soldier: 98.34%_

“Stop!” 

Steve stops abruptly. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't _breathe_. Bucky is grateful. 

He rushes upstairs and into his apartment, away from Steve. _Steve. Rough boardwalk beneath his feet, saltwater in his hair, waves crashing –_

Bucky hides beside the refrigerator and cleans his guns. It's methodical and satisfies the Soldier's voice long enough that he forgets how easy it would be for him to take over. 

That evening, Bucky hears Steve's door open and close, a soft male voice following throughout the apartment. He seems welcome but Bucky is never too sure of those things. He stays for around fifteen minutes until he leaves with Steve whispering a gentle – vulnerable - “thanks doctor.” 

Though food doesn't come, Bucky orders groceries for them and a bouquet of flowers. Sunflowers because they remind him of Steve. _Pull his pale skin apart like papery petals, scalp his blonde hair and watch him bleed a –_

Bucky hasn't eaten anything substantial in 19 hours so when he throws up, it's nothing but bile. 

##

The Soldier – _Bucky, fuck_ – sits by the window, his eye trained through the scope, watching the comings and goings of the numerous street personnel. 

Mail workers, delivery personnel, nurses, cab drivers, dogs, cats, pigeons, a particularly defiant child with exhausted parents, bus drivers, loved-up teenagers, Steve. _Steve._

Bucky's releases a slow, steady breath as he watches Steve cross the street and proceed towards the apartment building. He has a large, black portfolio folder – _artist_ – tucked under his arm, the strap across one shoulder. His short legs walk quickly face pale but pink across his cheeks, blonde hair plastered to his sweaty forehead – _elevated temperature, rapid breathing, high color, excessive perspiration_ – Bucky feels something like stress – _heightened anxiety_ – when he notices the problem. A cold or flu, perhaps some kind of respiratory infection? Steve Rogers is already frail and _delicate_ that a severe enough infection could call for a hospital stay. 

The Soldier – _Bucky_ – stands at his front door, hearing everything as far as the staircase without the need to press his ear to the worn wood. He hears a wheeze – _labored breathing_ – as Steve reaches the fourth floor. 

Bucky opens the door and stares at Steve's small form as he approaches his own door, breathing heavy and lips pale. The boy startles when he sees Bucky in his doorway. 

“James?” He asks quietly, before covering a cough with his sleeve-covered hand. He turns away, coughs rattling in his narrow chest. The cough sounds like that of Agent Durrow – _Hydra, Level 6 Commander, Obey before Handlers Level 5 and below_ – a smoker who died at age 43 from Stage 4 Lung Cancer. Bucky enjoyed watching him disintegrate before his eyes. It was _satisfying_. 

“Do you have respiratory difficulties?” 

Bucky still can't meet the eyes of another human but Sam said it will come with time so he stares at his eyebrows and ignores the pale, dry lips, waiting for a response. 

Steve's usually cerulean eyes have dimmed to a paler color that Bucky has yet to identify. His eyes are pink where they should be white and his face is almost ashen. 

“I have asthma and, and I think I'm coming down with something,” he wheezes, voice thready. He shakes his head and presses is hand to the wall in an attempt to stay upright. 

Bucky stares at his hand on the wall and how his other hand clenches around the strap of his portfolio, shaking. There's a minute tremor throughout his body – _nothing serious_ – but Bucky is sure it's a shiver caused by some oncoming fever. 

“It seems you have a fever and perhaps a respiratory infection. Antibiotics are required or hospitalization is imminent.” 

Steve frowns, his blush deepening as he leans forward with a grimace. 

“Listen, _buddy_ , I don't know who you think you are but I'll get my diagnoses from trained healthcare professionals. Not some –” Steve interrupts himself. 

_Weirdo_ , Bucky's brain supplies. _Broken. Damaged. Malfunctioning. Machine._ His body flushes all over and something like dread sits hot and sticky under his diaphragm. He just nods once and returns to his apartment, locking and relocking the door. Six separate locks. It's methodical and calming and he slows his breathing as he performs his safety regiments. 

Bucky wants to return to the scope and take note of those surrounding his space. He wants to, feels it's necessary, but can only curl up on his bed and stare out the window. His throat is tight and his eyes burn hot and bright. He pretends it's tiredness but he knows better. 

For the first time in six weeks, Bucky sleeps the entire next day away. 

##

“So did he actually call you a weirdo or was that just you supplying that thought?” 

Sam's voice is just so careful and soothing and Bucky feels like his body is lifting off the seat like he's simultaneously pushing into the stratosphere and huddling into himself and the air is too warm and his arm hurts – _the one that isn't there anymore_ – and he makes to grab at it but when he finds it missing again his eyes open – _when did they close_ – and he growls. 

“It was implied.” 

Sam does this little mouth shrug that Bucky wants to remove from his face – _a sharpened knife, no more than a pocket knife, slicing the delicate skin of his lips away from his face and feeling the blood settle beneath your fingernails and the skin would be soft but would dry incrementally and_ – he glances around the room. 

By the look on Sam's face, he's been out of it for too long and his body grows cold. 

“The Soldier still around?” 

Bucky lets his eyes travel up Sam's body, he's open and relaxed and his hands are clasped so naturally between his legs that Bucky feels _too much_ of everything and he just can't let his body sit and be in its natural state. What even is a natural state? 

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “he... he never leaves. He told me that Steve was sick.” His voice shakes – _your voice is shaking_ – and he exhales heavily. “He needs to see who is around all the time and, and listen to everything and notice so much and I just, fuck, it's exhausting. I'm _exhausted_.” 

Sam looks sympathetic and Bucky feels the immediate urge to just kick him directly in the balls. 

“He's a part of you, Bucky. He's never going to leave but he will quieten as you become more comfortable with civilian life.” 

Bucky sinks into the chair. His ass is falling asleep. 

“So I just have to, what, learn to be more human?” 

Sam tries to hold back his sigh but Bucky notices it anyway. 

##


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Mentions of suicide, mention of child murder, cancer, dissociation.

When Bucky returns home, groceries clutched in his hand, and his boot-clad feet moving silent across the creaking floor, he notices the same covered food tray outside his door. 

_Threat level 3.5. Hydra notices weakness. They see all. Cut off -_

Shut up! 

Bucky stomps loudly towards his door and unlocks it with his full hand. He places the groceries on the kitchen bar and returns to take the tray of food. 

Macaroni and cheese. 

There is a note on the top and the curiosity is enough for him to read. 

_Curiosity killed the ca -_

Jesus Christ. SHUT UP. 

_Dear James, I hope you enjoyed the last meal I made (Thank you for all the groceries, though you really don't have to!) This is to apologize for my son's behavior. He is sick and it was an infection and you were right. What a talent you have! Steve isn't used to being told his weaknesses but I appreciate that you cared enough to try. He'll always need that in his life so don't let him tell you otherwise. Please let me know if you enjoy these meals (I promise I can make things without cheese but where's the fun in that?) You are also more than welcome in our apartment. I would like to officially meet you if that is something you are interested in. If not, I understand. Take care of yourself, Sarah_

Bucky carefully straightens the crease out of the note and places it delicately on his near-empty bookshelf. 

It's nice. Makes him feel something human. 

##

Six days later, Bucky sees Steve in the corridor. He looks healthier _not full health_ and weighed down by his large art portfolio and book-bag, groceries grasped in either hand. Steve pretends he doesn't see Bucky. He passes without so much as a glance but Bucky can taste cotton candy on his tongue. 

##

“She sounds nice, y'know, understanding,” Sam's voice is calm, smoky, it sinks over Bucky's skin in spite of the terrifying words he's using, “they have your note and you've interacted with the kid –”

“Sam.” 

Sam rolls his eyes, leaning back, fingers clasped. 

The room is filled with bright light, the high sun filtering through large picture windows. Sam's apartment is warm and comfortable, a spread of plush rugs and kitten-soft blankets, cushions that could swamp Bucky's entire torso. 

When Bucky first saw it, he was too traumatized to mention it – too occupied with trying to look for a space where he was protected from the frankly incredibly unsafe windows – but in his third month, he made some gruff off-hand comment about Sam's _obnoxious fucking apartment_ which made Sam grin all gap-toothed and delighted. Bucky doesn't think he'll ever understand him. 

“Y'know, it'd be nice for you to make friends with the neighbors. People skills are something you can work on. It's a skill that you can develop.” 

Bucky feels his body fold in on itself, chin tucked to his chest. 

“I don't...” His voice is barely a whisper but he tries to get the fucking words out, “I don't want to – to hurt them.” 

He stares at his own feet and shakes; images flashing behind his eyes of that one he couldn't forget. Can't forget. The small dark-haired girl, no older than six or seven, through his scope, hugging his target around the shoulders. It was taking too long, their smiling faces, her head blocking his, he could almost hear their voices, her high-pitched laughing as the man – _her father_ – tickled her tummy, his arms wrapped tight around her torso and not turning around. Obstacles are no excuse. 

_It's you or them. Hail Hydra._

He took the shot and watched the bullet rip through her small body and lodge firmly in his target's. 

They wiped him when he got back but it never left. It was always the first memory to come back.

The way the man hardly even noticed how the bullet had lodged in his chest, directly over his heart, only concerned for the way his daughter slumped like a rag-doll in his arms. He carefully laid her down and started to scream. And scream and the anguish on his face was palpable until he noticed that it wasn't just her blood on his shirt but also his own. 

Bucky didn't wait to see what happened next but heard later that they both died. 

_Should've been me._

Hydra's punishment for the mess he made wasn't enough. He deserved so much more. He deserved to be tortured for the rest of his life and then fall straight into Hell where it would continue for eternity until he could forget the joy on her face and the look of love on her father's. 

_Should've been you. Us. Me._

He looks up and Sam has sadness, something akin to pity, shining from his eyes. 

“You back with me?” 

Bucky's body stops shaking, single-minded focus taking over, he stares at Sam. He feels the Soldier in his posture, in his mind. 

“Not fully.” 

Sam nods, inhaling sharply through his teeth, sitting forward with his hands clasped over his widespread knees. 

“You thought any more about therapy?” 

Bucky remains silent, stoic. 

“I'd find someone for you, someone good, great even. The best. Or y'know, you can always try the VA?” 

Bucky snorts at that. The Soldier recedes. 

“You want me to sit in a room with people who actually fought for good? Good, real people? Real people with real lives and problems. I'm a fucking ghost, Sam. I'm no more real than the Bogey Man and you want me to see some ten-a-penny therapist who sits with kids and asks them to show on the doll where the man touched them?” 

Kudos to Sam, his voice doesn't change a bit. He doesn't even respond. And boy does Bucky just love that silence Sam insists upon so he'll continue talking. Fine. 

“Hydra broke me. Shield thought they could fix me. Now, I'm here with one arm, no friends and a trained assassin sitting in my fucking head.” Bucky growls, stands then, stalking towards those _still-too-revealing_ windows. “Shoulda been destroyed with all the other Hydra tech.” 

Sam's heart-rate has been steadily climbing and now his breathing has sped up and Bucky can see in his reflection in the spotless glass that Sam's face has fallen. He looks _sad?_ Heartbroken, even. 

“I'm your friend.” 

Bucky just shakes his head. _Fuck_. Sam is the closest thing he has to a friend but he's not going to allow him to bear that burden. 

“And you are not something that can be broken or fixed or fucking destroyed like you aren't a man. A good man. A P.O.W. that has endured things that pretty much no human could imagine. You were the Soldier, _are the Soldier_ , but you're also so much more.” 

Bucky's eyes water. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls on it. Stop. 

“I can't do this anymore, Sam.” 

##

Bucky wakes suddenly sometime in the early evening. His body is heavy and slow, a soft ache just under his skin. 

A knock at the door. 

So that's what woke him. 

He shuffles silently across the apartment, his combat boots have never hindered his movement. He glances out the peephole and sees a small, middle-aged woman. Bright blonde hair, pale blue eyes. Sarah. She could be no one but Steve's mother. 

Bucky quietly unlocks the door and pulls it open, blinking sleep out of his eyes, attempting to adjust to the bright hallway. 

Sarah smiles softly, expectantly, her slim face lit up with a white grin. She looks older than he would have thought, wrinkled, _less body fat than is comfortable for optimum use._

“Hi James,” she whispers, voice quiet and soothing. Bucky relaxes minutely, “I'm Sarah. I thought, well, I thought we should officially meet.” 

She puts out a trembling hand – _sick? frightened?_ – in a silent request to shake. He's afraid it might crumble to ash in his palm. He takes it into his own as gently as possible, like he's handling a delicate flower. 

“Oh you're so nice and warm!” She laughs, pale, dry lips stretched in a joyful thing but the white's of her eyes have yellowed and there's a gaunt tinge to her body. _Cancer._

Bucky doesn't know what to say – he hasn't been described as warm since cryo – and the knowledge of Sarah's obvious illness leaves him speechless. 

“I thought that the note might encourage you to visit,” Sarah looks sheepish and wraps her thick blue cardigan tighter around herself. It's a few sizes too big, _bought when she was heavier, healthier_ but it makes her eyes look so blue, “but then I thought, _Sarah_ , the boy doesn't know you and isn't going to just knock on the door and invite himself in!” 

Bucky can't help but blush slightly, lips rolling into his mouth. He meets her eyes dead on and they are calm. 

“I can't stand out here for long because my loving son,” the sarcasm is obvious, “will just _know_ and he will probably tie me to the bed. So would you like to join me for tea?” 

His lips move almost without his beckoning and he glances around the corridor. 

“I'm,” he clears his throat, “I don't think I should.” 

Sarah's small face falls but she remembers herself almost immediately. 

“Okay, James, that's no problem.” 

She begins to turn away, her hand against the wall – _just like Steve's all those weeks ago_ – she shuffles forward. 

Words fall from Bucky's mouth, completely unbidden. 

“Steve doesn't like me.” 

Sarah stops and turns then, facing Bucky, her feet turning in a semi-circle. Her eyes are steely and Bucky gulps. 

“My son is beautiful and I love him dearly but he's a little bollocks.” 

Sarah grins then and Bucky returns the look before she reaches out and presses her hand to his chest. 

“Please, come and have tea.” 

_Unregistered human touch. Maintenance required. Update necessary._

Bucky nods and locks the door behind him. He's inside Sarah and Steve's apartment before he can even register that he's left his own. 

It's a home. It's warm and colorful and there are books and knick-knacks across the surfaces. The low lighting displays the art on the wall in a soft way like candlelight. It's a whole lifetime of love and joy and memories in one place and Bucky doesn't know where he would even begin to acquire a life like this. 

He glances at Sarah out of the corner of his eye. She is delicate, almost see-through like cellophane, her clothes and hair and skin look cool to the touch. Bucky sits uncomfortably on the couch while she potters around the small corner kitchenette. Pottery clinks together and a wayward spoon dings somewhere, before steaming water tsssss's into the teapot. It smells earthy. 

_London, 1943. Tea thick like tar and creamy with milk and no sugar but the English said it was definitely better with sugar and when this war is over, Sarge, you'll have to come back and have real –_

She whispers towards the couch, his enhanced hearing barely picking up the movement. Sarah places a well-worn tray on the coffee table, hands shaking almost invisibly. 

She sits in her clearly favorite chair – _molded perfectly to her small proportions, some previously larger than others_ – and she studies Bucky with a small, gentle smile. 

“You're a quiet soul, huh?” 

Bucky shrinks inwards, the nail of his index finger picking at his thumb. 

“I – I, it's – ” he tries, frowning at the tea tray where the pattern fades at the handles. 

“It's okay, James.” 

Her voice is stronger and there might be an accent there. _British? Irish. Western Ireland._ Somewhere wild and green and badly portrayed in Hollywood. She picks up her teacup and blows against the steam. 

“My husband, Steve's dad, he was a vet.” Her smiling face falls into familiar sadness, “when he came home, he had lost something. He wasn't the man I knew, I loved.” 

Bucky doesn't know why she says this, why she feels like she knows what happened to Bucky. That he can’t sleep and when he does, he can’t get up, that his head is filled with death and the blood on his hands can't be cleaned and – 

“He lost his battle with depression when Steve was just little.” She leans back into the chair, eyes trained on the damp ceiling. “I tried to help him, y'know, thought a sweet boy like Steve would be enough to stick around for.” Her voice wobbles and she clears her throat. “So when I see someone in need, James,” Sarah stares at Bucky pointedly, “I almost force them to be my friend.” She grins then and Bucky feels sad and happy and warm at the same time and it's too much and – 

“Bucky.” 

The word falls out of his mouth like water, upon a constricted breath. 

“Pardon?” 

“My name...” He attempts to project, his voice stronger now, “I go, I go by Bucky.”

He doesn't have to look up to hear the smile in her voice. 

“That's a lovely nickname, Bucky. I'm afraid I'm just plain ol' Sarah.” 

She's not plain, however, she's kind and _nice_ and feels like bright light on his skin. 

“You're from Ireland.” 

Bucky wasn't meant to state it as a fact. He knows normal – _normal_ – people phrase something like that as a question. But Sarah only smiles. 

“I am. You've a good ear,” her laugh is soft, delighted, “Sligo. You ever been?” 

Bucky doesn't like questions. Questions about things he should definitely remember. So he just shakes his head. 

Sarah snorts. 

“It's not as green as they make it out to be. Not anymore anyway.” 

Bucky smiles small and genuine that reaches his eyes without his consent. 

“Disappointing,” he murmurs, lashes flickering towards Sarah. 

Sarah throws out a sweet laugh, tinkling over him like a waterfall and his shoulders drop. He suddenly realizes he hasn't checked the sight-lines; he throws his eyes around but he can't _five windows_ take _twenty eight vulnerable areas_ in the _two locks_ information _nowhere to hide_ quick enough. 

His breathing is too quick and he pushes his head between his knees. He hears that soft voice from somewhere else, somewhere beyond. Then there are whimpers _vulnerable_ broken sounds like an injured animal. 

A deeper voice _he cries out_ angry, confused, _curls into himself, protect your vital organs_ then there are two voices, speaking calmly, smooth and sanded around the edges _you'll be punished._

Bucky pulls at his hair, some strands twist in his fingers, pulling clean from his scalp. More than normal. His eyes open, the room has tilted. He's curled in the fetal position, knees pressed to his chest, fingers stuck in his hair. His hand is shaking. 

Sarah is kneeling in front of him, but out of arm's reach – _safer_ – and her face is concerned. To his right, there is someone else – _Steve_ – sitting with his legs crossed on the floor. His face is pale and withdrawn but Sarah's voice is soothing, like the sea, approaching when necessary and receding appropriately. 

Bucky sits up suddenly, head spinning, he throws himself into a standing position. 

“M'sorry, I'm sor – I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry, S-Sarah, Steve, please,” he can't recognize his own voice and he's not breathing properly – _efficiently_ – until he's out of their apartment door and back in his own safe space. Door locked behind him, his face perched tightly against his scope. 

He doesn't sleep. 

##

Sarah leaves notes at Bucky's door, under his door, slipped between the crack, in his mailbox, on top of the dishes she leaves. 

He still eats the dishes and keeps the notes on his bookshelf and orders groceries but he won't go inside the apartment again. 

Steve continues to ignore him, or outright avoid him, and it's really all Bucky deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos/criticism water your skin and clear your crops.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Mentions of cancer. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments and kudos! It warms the cockles of my cold, dead heart.
> 
> Stay safe out there, kids.

##

Bucky returns from a 32 mile run at 11 am and there is another dish in front of his door and a note sitting on warm tinfoil. He picks them up and lets himself inside. 

He's yet to tuck in when there is a knock on the door. Quiet and lightening-fast. He doesn't need to look to know who it is. 

“Bucky, honey, I know you're in there. And – and I understand that, maybe, you're scared? Or, or you're embarrassed, but there's no need to be.” 

Silence. Bucky can hear her breathe, breaking his heart with every rattle and wheeze. 

“I'm not goin’te give up on you, Bucky. You're stuck with me, okay?” 

Bucky feels wetness on his cheeks before he realizes he's crying. He marches over to throw open the door and she looks even smaller than before. _Three pounds lighter._

“I'm, m'so sorry Sarah,” he whispers, his frame feels lumbering as he stares down at her but when she welcomes him into his arms, she feels like a giant. 

##

Over the weeks, he tells her more. She coaxes it out of him really. 

_Wouldn't your handlers be so proud?_

Not enough, though, never enough to make her a target. Hydra is always in the periphery, he's not naïve enough to believe his life is his own. Not yet. Not any more. 

That he was captured. That he has no family. That his arm was bloody and festering and removed without anesthetic or painkillers. 

Steve works more now, takes more shifts, and the guilt weighs on Sarah like an almost physical thing. 

“You know, I'm afraid it's too much for him now that I'm sick. He's not even nineteen yet.” 

Sarah says she's sick, never says what it is or how sick she is and never lets Bucky see her less than sprightly and sweet. 

Through the wall, on bad nights, he can hear her hacking coughs grow worse and he wonders how such a small person can produce such a terrible sound. 

##

Bucky visits during the day while Steve is in school or work. Sarah says that she keeps nothing from Steve. 

“He knows about our tea dates, Bucky.” She says the word ‘dates’ delightedly, “I'm not going to hide from my son. Even if he is the _biggest_ pain in my hole.”

Bucky snorts, he enjoys how similar she sounds to the dockers he used to work with. Those who came over to make a life for themselves, starting over in a country paved with gold. 

She's told him before that he doesn't need to be afraid of Steve. Of him knowing that they are friends. 

“You don't deserve to be hidden away, honey.” 

_A ghost._

In their apartment, Bucky feels warm like before; before Budapest and cryo and war. More memories return in the warmth of Sarah’s friendship. Like his ma's mashed potatoes in his belly and a little girl who looks like him standing on his feet when he tried to teach her to dance and the feel of pomade on his hands and the smell of fresh-baked bread at the end of the block. 

He can't think of anything good to say so he says nothing. 

_Silence is compliance._

When he refocuses, Sarah looks at him with something soft in her eyes and the steaming cup in her lap. He can't remember the last time someone looked at him like that. 

“I think they broke me.” 

Sarah's face changes minutely, lower lip quivering just like Steve's, a crease between her eyebrows. She says nothing. 

“They took me and broke me and made me into a – a monster.” He licks his lips. “There's nothing good in me, not anymore. I _should_ be hidden.” He whispers, “I should be dead.” 

Sarah moves slowly, with great effort, from her chair to sit beside Bucky. She looks like she’ll crack apart with any exertion and he can’t even move, glued to the couch. Her legs tucked underneath her, she's almost as tall as him sitting down like this. She guides his head to her shoulder and wraps porcelain-fragile arms around the bulk of his shoulders. 

“I, I have a feeling this goes deeper than the war, huh? Something else, somethin' worse.” Her spindly fingers comb through his tangled hair, separating it delicately. “But there's nothing bad in you, there's nothing wrong with you. You're not broken, hun, just a little dented.” 

She hums under her breath, it carries on a warm breeze and Bucky rubs the fleece of her sweater between his fingers. 

“You're the first friend I've had since I got back.” 

Bucky feels her smile against his scalp. 

“I won't be the last one, Bucky.” 

##

A week later, Sarah cancels on him. Bucky orders a warm blanket and a large bouquet of flowers to their apartment. 

When he sees her three days later, he doesn't say anything about the deep grey bags under her eyes or the stench of sickness in the walls but he does admire the blanket she has wrapped around her body and the flowers sitting on the table beside her. 

Sarah is quieter than normal, frailer than he's ever seen her. 

Steve comes home earlier than expected and Bucky jumps from the couch when he hears the key in the door. The boy glances between them and scowls lightly. 

Sarah giggles at the fear on Bucky's face. 

“Jesus, Bucky, he's not a pit bull!” 

Bucky flushes from his hairline to his chest, glancing down, _endless blue skies and ice-cold sea-water against bare legs and –_

She continues, “he only seems like one.” 

She's giggling so much that even the scowl melts from Steve's face and he comes over to press a kiss to her hair. 

Bucky moves to leave but Steve stares at him then, large eyes crystal clear behind his glasses. 

“Don't leave because of me.” 

Bucky can't get his words out, head shaking, he glances at Sarah. She just smiles softly. 

“It's okay, Bucky, honey, you can leave if you like.” 

Bucky just nods _have to leave_ and glances back at Steve, who looks confused and annoyed. 

“Sorry,” it's less than a whisper, “thank you f-for the invitation.” 

Bucky bolts out of there and closes the door gently behind him until he can get back to his own apartment and slam the door, locking it _one two three four five six_ and sitting at his scope. 

That evening, he tries to ignore Sarah’s calm tone excusing Bucky’s behavior and Steve’s indignation. It’s late when he can make out some soft deep words. 

“Okay, ma, I’ll try.” 

##

“Why are you so afraid of him, though?” 

Sam is incredulous and Bucky wants to smother him with one of his fluffy grey pillows. 

“I don't fucking know, do I? If I did, don't you think I'd tell you?” 

Sam scoffs. 

“No.” 

Bucky growls, hand clenched into a _fluffy, grey_ blanket. 

“He just makes me nervous. I know he hates me but I didn't actually do anything wrong to him for once. I mean, I... It was just because he was _sick_ and – ”

Sam sits back, relaxed as fucking anything, and takes a sip of water. 

“His mom's already sick, y'know, maybe he didn't wanna be reminded that he was sick too.” 

Bucky lets his head fall back against the couch. 

##

At the mailbox, Steve gives a tentative smile when he sees Bucky. 

He'll take it as a victory though he knows it’s likely all Sarah’s influence. _Strawberry syrup and an old carousel and teenage kisses under the boardwalk and –_

There's a little spring in his step for the rest of the day but he won't admit out loud just why. 

##


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Just general sad stuff. 
> 
> Thanks for all of your comments and kudos!

##

Bucky’s having a good day when there’s a knock at the door. He tries not to gasp when he sees that it’s Steve. 

“Hi,” he mumbles, cheeks pale pink and wearing a soft blue sweater that makes his eyes glow. 

Bucky clears his throat. “Hi, Steve,” but his voice still rasps like he smokes forty-a-day. 

Steve can barely meet his eyes, sleeves pulled down over his hands, toes shuffling on the linoleum. 

“Ma said she’s sick of sending you over food that you eat by yourself when you could come and eat with us,” his eyes meet Bucky’s then. Obstinate. “She said she’ll guilt you into it if you don’t come willingly.” 

Bucky chuckles softly and just nods, “sure.” He grabs his keys and follows Steve into their apartment. It’s warm and under the smell of cooking is that differing scent that lingers in everyone’s home, unnoticed by those who live there but distinctive and noticeable to everyone else. Steve and Sarah’s home always smells a little like someone has been baking pineapple turnover cake. Vanilla and a little citrus. 

Steve looks nice, with the pale blue sweater and his dark jeans that are fitted tight to his slim legs. Though he is in his socks and there is something so fundamentally _young_ in it that Bucky feels a little fuzzy around the edges. 

He closes their door behind himself, locking as he goes, and only just notices Steve’s thoughtful glance at his actions. 

When Bucky sees Sarah, his face lights up. She’s wearing a dress, it’s hanging off her body but her makeup is flawless and her hair is soft around her face. She grins when she meets his eyes and does a little curtsy. 

“What do you think?” Her voice is lower these days, rough at the back of her throat. He reaches out and takes her hand ever so carefully in his own, pressing a dry kiss to the papery skin. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispers and her eyes go soft, a flush covering her cheeks. 

“You ol’ flatterer,” she mumbles as Bucky helps her sit back down in her chair, “I’m not that easy... yet.” He turns to see Steve staring at them with large, wet eyes and a small smile on his face. Bucky manages to catch his eye and the younger man just shakes his head slightly, turning back to the food. 

Bucky moves closer and doesn’t say anything, just watches from the edge. 

“C-can I help?” 

Steve sniffles softly, his head down, and just smiles. 

“You’re already helping.” 

Bucky feels his chest alight with pure sadness, pressing on the places between his lungs and his ribs. 

Then Steve is handing him a plate heaped with steaming lasagne, before grabbing two more plates, each with significantly less food than Bucky’s. Utensils already sit on the coffee table by the couch and a big jug of what looks like homemade lemonade. 

Bucky sits and watches as Steve sets a tray across Sarah’s lap, held up by a cushion, with more cushions softening the edges of her body. He sits then and just stares at his plate, before inhaling a deep breath and looking up. His pale skin looks so soft to the touch that Bucky gets a little lost in looking at him. His blonde hair a little longer at the back than normal, the front too long and half-covering his eyes. 

“Jesus, if I’d wanted this kind of silence, I would’ve eaten by meself!” 

Bucky jumps a little, glancing at Sarah, who gives him something of a suspiciously knowing look. Though he’s unsure what exactly it is that she knows. Steve looks at her too and then glances back down at his plate, cheeks nearly fuchsia.

“Ma! What do you expect? Me and James don’t, we don’t know each other and y-you’re just -” 

“I’m just what?” She scowls playfully. 

Steve takes a large mouthful of lasagne, speaking with his mouth full. 

“You’ve just sprung this on us and, and you’re not helping!” 

Sarah grins, starting to eat her own dish, though it’s tentative and she doesn’t seem much interested in it. Bucky turns to his plate and eats in earnest. He lets out an unexpected moan that makes a fork clang in the room. He looks up, surprised, and sees both blondes staring at him; Sarah with a grin spread across her mouth and Steve trying to clear up what sauce spilled when he dropped his fork. 

“Sorry,” Bucky whispers, heat flushing down the back of his neck. He licks his lips and continues to eat. 

Sarah lets out a snort - at what, Bucky isn’t sure - and continues to eat. 

“So, Steve,” Bucky begins, with an encouraging nod from Sarah, “I noticed you going around with, with your portfolio? What, um, what art do you like to do?” 

Steve looks surprised, his head turning to Bucky. His soft pink mouth is plump from where he’s been biting at them. 

“Oh, um, yeah… I, I like to paint. And sketch. Sketching is less messy and I can do it most places but I like to paint,” he smiles a little, wistful, “I like the mess.” 

Bucky grins and nods, looking back down at his plate. Steve surprises Bucky by continuing. 

“I work in an art shop so I get a discount, which is cool.” 

“And it’s his artwork on the wall…” Sarah’s voice is tired but proud, “though y’know that already, huh, Bucky? When you first admired it and I told you.” She turns to Steve, “he was so shocked that my boy did that.” 

Bucky’s insides quiver. 

“You’re really talented.” 

Steve can’t seem to take the look off his face, something like awe and appreciation and his eyebrows are tilted downwards. 

“Thank you, James.” 

Their conversation continues, tension seeping out of Bucky’s body and their stilted words easing as the evening continues. Sarah fills the silences with a soft look in her eye when they are unsure and rigid beside each other. 

Steve is animatedly explaining how he’s gotten into art school and how incredible it’ll be to be around other artists and everything he’ll learn and what he wants to develop before a cough breaks his spiel and he looks at Sarah with empty eyes. He stares at his knees but every time a cough wracks Sarah’s form, he shudders. 

Bucky leans over and rests a soft, shaking hand against Steve’s shoulder. But Steve just shakes his head immediately and Bucky retreats. 

And then he’s standing and taking Sarah into her room. The door closes softly behind them and, with nothing more to do, Bucky takes the dishes into the kitchen and proceeds to wash them. He’s almost glad he’s one-handed so it’ll keep him occupied for longer. 

Bucky tries to ignore their conversation, the sound of the oxygen mask, the rustle of clothing. 

_13 minutes, 42 seconds later_ , the door opens and Steve emerges, forehead shiny with exertion and shoulders painfully tense. He catches Bucky’s eye across the room and attempts a smile. 

“She wanted to see you if you were still here.” 

Bucky nods, walking towards Steve. Before he can move away completely, Bucky touches his arm with one finger. 

“I wouldn’t have left.” 

Steve nods once and walks over to the couch when Bucky knocks on Sarah’s bedroom door. 

“Come in,” she wheezes and Bucky’s opening the door as quietly as possible. 

She’s settled on one side of the bed like the other has been left empty for her husband. She’s wrapped in fleece and blankets, pillows stacked behind her head. The oxygen tank is placed beside her and the rubber tubing sits carefully on her face. 

Bucky can’t say anything. She looks so much smaller. 

“It’s okay, hun, c’mere.” She pats the bed beside her leg and he moves across, sitting gently so as not to jostle her. She immediately takes his hand between both of her cold palms. “One of my bad days, y’know? Sometimes, I don’t need this crap.” 

Bucky can feel his hand shake. 

“I know it’s not easy to see, Bucky.” 

He shakes his head, “n-no, it’s just, I forget is all.” 

Sarah smiles then, it’s genuine. 

“That’s the nicest thing you could’ve said to me.” Her smile grows a little mischievous then. “It’s the only way I was getting you into my bed, huh?” 

Bucky chokes on a laugh and can feel himself blush furiously. Sarah laughs too but it’s raspy and hard and she starts to cough. Bucky presses a water glass to her lips until she calms. 

A comfortable silence settles between them until Sarah tightens her grip on his hand. 

“I’m glad you came here when you did, Bucky.” 

Bucky knows what she means. She’s happy he’s here. She’s happy she met him before… before. 

“Me too,” and Bucky is afraid to say anything, afraid that this is it and he’s not prepared and what is he supposed to say? How can he tell her that she’s all he’s held onto for these months. That she broke his miserable days and filled them with sunshine. Made him feel something other than completely broken. “You made me feel more human.” 

Sarah’s eyes are soft and a little wet and Bucky can feel the back of his throat burn with the way his body is trying to shut down his tears. 

“You’re a good man.” 

Bucky can’t contain a tear that rolls down his cheek. Sarah brushes it away. 

“Bucky.” 

The serious tone makes him turn and really look at her. 

“Bucky, you hafta do me a favor.” 

He turns fully and tightens his fingers just a little around her own. 

“Anything.” 

She takes in a deep breath and lets it go. 

“Look after him for me,” her voice is soft and croaky, “he’ll push you away, he’ll hate you, he’ll hate me, he’ll fight and scream and fight some more…” Another breath, “I’ve told him that you’ll look out for him, that you’re special.” 

Bucky feels something somersault in his chest. 

“He has no one else. He’s spent so long sick and fighting with his fucking toenails and then looking after me.” 

The tears build and brim in her pale eyes. 

“He’s so lonely, Bucky, so alone. I’m leavin’ him all alone.” 

“Nooooo,” his whisper is caught around his tender insides. 

“I don’t have long, Bucky,” her lips stick together, sticky with sickness. 

_Weeks._

Bucky chokes back a sad noise and grabs some tissues to dab away her tears. 

“If you had a choice, you’d never leave him, Sarah. And I’ll be here, I’m not gonna leave him. Never okay? No matter what. I promise.” 

She settles back into the pillows and gives a yawn, eyes fluttering. He presses a kiss to her forehead as he stands and she gives a sleepy mumble. 

“I told him you liked ‘im.” 

Bucky lets the words run through his body and leaves the room. Steve looks up from where he’s perched on the couch. 

“She okay?” 

“Asleep.” 

Steve sinks back into the cushions and lets out a heavy breath. His body looks tense even as he sits back. 

“I-I’ll leave you alone, I, I know you weren’t happy about -” 

“No.” 

Bucky looks up from where he’s been toeing the edge of the worn rug. 

“I’m happy you were here,” Steve whispers, his head still back on the cushion, eyes closed, “She wanted a dinner party before she didn’t have enough energy to dress up. She wanted you here.” 

His eyes are clear and bright when he catches Bucky’s eye. 

“I'm glad you've been here to keep her company..." Bucky wants to scrub the look of shame from Steve's pale skin, "It didn't always seem like it.” 

Bucky doesn’t know what to say so he just nods. Steve stands then and walks him to the door, and Bucky can’t help but linger. Wonders how he could take away their pain. What he would take onto himself just to relieve them of this agony, the slow descent. 

“She’s helped me a lot, Steve, I won’t forget it.”

Bucky walks to his own door and, as Steve's door is closing gently, Bucky mumbles. 

"Steve?" 

"Yeah?" He peeks his empty, wet eyes around the doorframe. 

"You're not alone in this." 

Steve attempts a little smile, a nod and then he's gone. 

##


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new trigger warnings for this chapter. 
> 
> Short chapter today, kids, so I'll post again tomorrow. I hope you enjoy and, remember, comments and kudos are keeping me relatively sane during self-isolation ^_^

##

There's a Russian food store on Bucky's run for the first time on a new route. He hears someone shouting from inside and he runs cold _smothering in icy air veins freezing eyes drying snowysuffocatinggrave –_

It's a bad day. 

##

Bucky has been awake for 68 hours. _Sleep necessary in approx. 4.25 hours. 6210 calories optimal before sleep._ His face is pressed against the scope, eyeballs scratchy, burning. _Exhaustion imminent. Delirium onset in approx. 3.5 hours. See handler for instructions._

“NO!” 

It's a scream. Tortured, broken, Bucky stands and looks around. It's too close to have come from another floor, close-by. _Sarah._ No, definitely male. _Steve._

Bucky rushes across the apartment, slamming his door open, he knocks insistently against their apartment door. 

A little more than two minutes later, Sarah opens her door. She should be wary but isn't. He has to ask anyway.

“Are you hurt?” 

Sarah looks confused. She looks even more drawn than the last time Bucky saw her. She's silent so he continues. 

“I heard a scream.” 

Sarah's face falls and tears spring to her devastated eyes. 

“Sweetie,” she presses a hand to his arm, “I think that was you.” 

Bucky shakes his head, images throwing his mind back and forth like his brain is shaking within his skull. He clenches his eyes, banging his fist against his forehead. The inside of his skull itches and there's blood behind his eyelids and he can't go back. They can't have him. 

“I'm so sorry they did this to you, Bucky.” 

He murmurs some kind of cracked sound, teeth clenched, lips tight. 

Sarah slowly brings her arms up around his shoulders, she can barely reach but it's warm and soft and Bucky falls to his knees in her grasp. Her blue cardigan is soft and worn in his hand.

His mouth won't form the words he hopes to. That he's broken, that she shouldn't touch him, that he's blood-stained and crushed to pieces and he's not sure how he could even begin to put himself back together. 

“You’re safe here, sweetheart.” 

##

_Sleep deprivation. 24 hours optimal for full asset use._

_Surroundings familiar. Not secure._

_Surface beneath Asset’s back soft. Warm. Cotton-polyester blend covering Asset. Unnecessary. Asset does not require warmth._

_Voices near. Approx. 12 feet from current location. Closed door. North East._

_Area unlit, daylight indicates approx. 5:30pm._

_Three distinct voices. One female. Two male._

_7530 calories needed. See handler. Malfunction imminent._

_One male voice - younger. Fear detected. Hail Hydra._

_One female voice - older. Soft. Deep. Fear undetected. One male voice. 72% chance African American. Approx. 35 years old. Fear undetected. Unusual._

_Evidence suggests Asset can overpower two men, one woman, unenhanced._

_Asset detects no immediate escapes. Pull open door._

_Two men. One small. One woman. Cancer. Stage 4. Lung._

Sad? S-sad. 

_Asset to door. Best escape route. Voices call. Concern? Hysteria._

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

_Grocery store South-West, approx. 0.6 miles. Nutrients necessary. Fruit sufficient for carbohydrate intake._

_Abandoned warehouse 0.8 miles North North West. Difficult access for unenhanced/non-Asset. 72% safe. Acquire arms. Calorie deficit oncoming._

_Corner. Clear lines of sight. Tarp for camouflage. Arms not acquired. Asset to hibernate._

##

_Asset malfunction. See handler for instructions.  
Asset malfunction. See handler for instructions.  
Asset malfunction. See handler for instructions.  
Asset malfunction. See handler for instructions.  
Asset malfunction. See handler for instructions.  
Asset malfunction. See handler for instructions.  
Asset malfunction. See handler for instructions.  
Asset malfunction. See handler for instructions.  
Asset malfunction. See -_

##


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers and trigger warnings at the end of chapter.

##

Bucky buys water from a bodega and the newspaper says May 19th. He's lost 16 days from the last day he can remember. 

He doesn't know where he's been. Woke up in a dusty warehouse just outside of Brooklyn, surrounded by empty food wrappers and crushed water bottles and a mountain of decomposing fruit skins. 

He adds every newspaper to his purchase and ignores the raised eyebrow of the clerk. 

Bucky knows where he's supposed to be. He has an apartment, a bed, _things_. He has a Sarah who is nice to him, feeds him, isn't afraid of him. And Sam. Steve. 

Bucky reads the newspapers in the subway station, legs crossed under him, hair in his face. He has to make sure nothing has happened. That _he_ hasn't done anything. He's satisfied.

Someone throws a ten-dollar bill at him. When he leaves, he throws the money to some homeless guy and ignores his thanks. 

The building is quiet. His mailbox is relatively empty, apart from some uninteresting spam. Bucky makes his way up the stairs, legs tired, muscles fatigued. 

He picks his own lock and slams it shut behind him, sliding down the cheap, compressed wood. 

A few minutes later, there is a heavy and rapid knock on the door. He heaves himself to stand upright and turns to open the door. _Steve. Warm summer air and toes sinking into soft yellow sand –_

Steve looks furious. 

“Where have you been?!” He growls, low voice even deeper. _Thin face pale, eyes red, nails bitten –_

Bucky stares at Steve, his small body quivering. It can't be from cold, something else? He doesn't know how to respond, Steve has barely spoken directly to him in all his months of living here. 

“I thought you might have come back! I - I came here, I knocked and knocked and pleaded and banged and you weren't here!” 

Steve's voice is high and hysterical and he's shaking so hard, his eyes filled with tears. His voice is hoarse and pitchy and rips something almost physical in Bucky's chest. 

“I needed your help and you weren't here!” 

There are too many words to process. на русском. Bucky just shakes his head, “I don't – wha -?” 

“She's _gone_. She's dead. You were gone and I needed someone to help resuscitate her or, or just _help_ , help _me_ and you weren't there!” 

Bucky stares at Steve. He feels like he's going to have a heart attack for .9 seconds until his chest numbs out into something hollow. The first person to be nice to him, to _care_ about him, to give him a chance and not expect anything in return is gone and her son stands before Bucky, fists clenched, cheeks wet. 

“She said you’d be here! I thought you were her friend…” His voice is barely a whisper. “You promised.” 

Bucky can’t find his voice in the recesses. Doesn’t know what to say in this situation. Only knows how to cause it.

“I'm sor – ”

“Don't _tell_ me you're fucking sorry! You don't deserve to be sorry! I _told_ her you were no good, that you shouldn't be around her and now she's dead!” 

##

“It wasn't your fault, Bucky.” 

Sam means well, He always means well. Bucky stormed into his apartment with over two weeks of no interaction and spewed something unintelligible and, of course, Sam tried to make sense of it; pick up the pieces. 

“You don't know that.” 

Sam leans forward again. That therapist thing he does. 

“I do. She had lung cancer, Bucky, and outlived what she was meant to.” 

Bucky warms at that, _she was a fighter._

“She was dying and she wanted to befriend you. To help you and be kind. It wasn't your fault you weren't there and she would understand.” 

Bucky cries. And cries. 

And cries. 

Sam forces him to sleep in his spare room that night. 

##

Bucky likes the balcony. At this time, the sun is long set and he can hear the sounds from the street below climb up the brickwork and reach his ears. He's tucked away where not a soul can see him, he's made sure of it. Then the window of Sarah and Steve's apartment opens the whole way. Delicate feet perch onto the balcony and sit. 

Bucky lies there, keeping his breathing as silent as he was trained – _quiet is not silent enough_ – and listens for something out of the ordinary. Like why Steve is sitting on the balcony at 2:32 am. Bucky does it because he's fucking crazy and is missing bits of his brain. 

He hears a _shiff-shiff-shiffff_ that sounds like lead. No, charcoal, against sketchbook paper. 

And sniffling. It starts out softly like Steve almost doesn't notice it until it gets heavier and deeper and comes from some pained place inside. 

Bucky sits up and stares at Steve from over the low balcony wall. When the blonde notices the movement, he rushes back through the window so fast, Bucky hears his shin scrape the rough brickwork. The glass rattles in the window frame as it slams shut. 

That night, Steve's cries sound like he's wailing and Bucky won't hide away from it. He sits against the wall, his ear stuck to the plaster. Bucky sometimes forgets he has a heart. He can't help but remember it with the way Steve's devastated hiccups make him breathless. He presses his hand to the plaster and wishes he could just _do_ something, take the pain into himself. It would just blend in with the rest. 

##

Steve pretends he doesn't see Bucky as they pass in the corridor, in the laundry room, on the stairs, by the mailbox, on the pavement outside – 

He looks like a black and white rendering of his old self, the color seeped completely from his person. 

He works constantly, gone from early morning to late at night and Bucky wonders how long he can go on like this. It's been 48 days since Bucky came back and Steve has worked every single one. 

##

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Off-screen canonical death. Mentions of cancer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks SO MUCH for everyone's comments and kudos over the last few chapters, it really helps keep me going :) 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Hospitalization.
> 
> Un-betaed as always. Let me know if there are any mistakes or whatever because IT KEPT REFRESHING. Ugh. 
> 
> And thanks so much for reading ^_^

##

Bucky returns from Sam’s with a heavy tread in his step. Paranoia lingering like ants on his skin. He reaches his floor when he sees Steve slotting his key into the door. Or attempting it at least. 

His heart-rate is elevated, movements sluggish. _Breathing normal._ Bucky sees how Steve rests his head against the wall as he tries to find the keyhole. 

He walks silently along the corridor, hoping to keep unnoticed by Steve. The blonde’s hands are shaking, trembling, fingers stiff around his key. He’s whimpering softly, unnoticeable to unenhanced ears. He rests his other hand against the wall to hold himself up. 

Bucky comes closer and, finally, Steve notices the other man. Bucky can hear how his teeth clench in his head and he drops his key. 

“Fuck!” 

Bucky goes to pick it up but Steve bodily pushes him away, delicate hands harsh against Bucky’s chest. Though it has no real effect, he allows himself to move back, to give Steve room, not crowd him. 

“Get away from me! I-I don’t… I don’t want -” 

“Steve!” 

Steve falls back against the grey wall with a thud, small body weak, but his legs still hold him up, just barely. His body is trembling, lips cracked and dry, eyelids fluttering, before his knees give out beneath him. 

Bucky catches Steve around the waist with one arm, ignoring how his body still tries to fight against him. He supports Steve as he sinks slowly to the floor. And then his own breathing becomes erratic. Bucky isn’t sure what to do, his medical expertise isn’t all that advanced but it is likely that Steve is not suffering from infection. 

_Fever - negative._

Bucky starts to panic when Steve’s eyes continue to flutter, eyes rolled back in his head. 

He calls 911 and it comes quicker than his body can register but, to his mind, it’s just _too slow_. He’s panicking. 

_You were not created to panic._

Bucky doesn’t touch Steve in the ambulance. Doesn’t want to tarnish him with his murderous touch. He feels itchy, a sensation at the back of his head like he’s being watched. Unnerving. 

Then he’s shoved into a waiting room with a sheet of paper, covered in lines and boxes and he shakes his head. _Compute._ He adds as much as he can to the questionnaire. 

Bucky looks at the ‘Relationship’ category and pauses. How can he explain Steve? _Running across lava-hot sand, ocean spray on -_ No! Steve is… Neighbor. They are neighbors. Steve would barely describe him as that at the moment. 

He hands the questionnaire back to a bored-looking woman at reception and sits patiently in a hard plastic chair. 

It’s at times like these that he appreciates his training. 

Bucky - _the Soldier_ \- sits quietly, still, limbs relaxed but alert; heart-rate steady, mind not as blissfully blank as he had hoped. 

Bucky should never have left. He should have stuck himself to Steve’s side from that night on and never pulled away. He should have fought through his own panic, through the fog in his head. _Fought the Soldier._ He should never have left them when Sarah was so vulnerable. When he knew that she didn’t have long, days at least, weeks at most. 

“-arnes? James Barnes?” 

Bucky looks in the direction his name is being called and sees a stern-looking woman, tall, big, _strong_. _6’0, 240lbs, approx. 41 years old._ She looks like a handler he had once Agent Vassilieva – _Hydra, Level 7 Chief Commander, Obey before Handlers Level 6 and below_ and it makes him shudder, makes the air visible and wobbly around him but then he remembers _Steve_. 

Bucky stands and approaches _not handler_. He notices how her dark eyes are so unlike that woman _before_ that he focuses on that and the way her vocal cords could never be comfortable wrapped around the harder of Russian vocabulary. 

“You’re here with Steve Rogers?” She’s curt and matter of fact, Bucky likes it. He nods. 

She continues, “I’m Dr. Harding, I’ve just looked him over and, frankly, he hasn’t been looking after himself.” She walks down a long, brightly-lit corridor, where nurses murmurs in clusters with teary-eyed women and over-active children. 

“You’re his neighbor?” Bucky nods. The doctor sighs, “so I guess you know about his mother?” 

Bucky just nods again, before remembering himself. 

“Yeah, we’re… we were friends. She wanted me to keep an eye on him but -” 

The doctor stops abruptly in front of a closed door. 

“He’s suffering from exhaustion, severe dehydration and the beginnings of starvation.” She clears her throat, her severe high bun makes Bucky’s head ache. “He’s not looking after himself.” 

Bucky clears his throat, trying to contain his shaking and act like a human for _just a few more minutes_. 

“St-Steve doesn’t listen to me. He, he’s worked every day since his mom -” 

The doctor’s eyes slide into something concerned and Bucky’s heart gives a little thump. 

“I know Steve. I’ve been here with his mom,” she glances at the door though Bucky’s sure she can’t see anything beyond the wood, “he’s stubborn. He’s also immuno-compromised.” She’s stern then, “if you wanna look after him, then _look after him_.” 

Bucky swallows and can only nod. 

“I’ll try.” 

Her red face settles a little, the splotchy tone of her cheeks paling slightly. 

“I left some care brochures on his table if you wanna have a look,” she nods towards the door with a professional smile and leaves almost immediately, Crocs leaving muffled squeaks in her wake. 

Bucky stares at the smooth cream wood of Steve’s door and lets out a breath, emptying his lungs before pushing it open. The hinges are well-oiled, silent, and the room is just a single for Steve. _Expensive._

The room is dimly lit, the night sky navy just beyond the window. Bucky closes the distance to the bed, the door swings shut quietly behind him. 

Steve. 

He looks tiny. Tiny in a small hospital bed. His usually slim body is rakish, dry, papery. _Like Sarah._ It makes his throat warm like there’s acid crawling up through his body. 

Bucky reaches him, presses his hand to Steve’s cheek, turns his face towards him. His eyelids are veiny and transparent. Deep purple bags have set harshly beneath his eyes like a threat to never leave. His tiny arm is hooked up to a bag _IV, fluids, nutrients, sleeping aid_. His lashes are encrusted with dry, yellow flakes. 

“I didn’t do good, did I?” 

Steve’s eyes look like they’re glued shut. 

There’s a dry, wayward tear glue to his soft cheek that Bucky fights with himself to remove. He ultimately loses. It glistens, salty against his thumb. Steve’s skin is warm and _so soft_ to the touch. 

He sits in a badly-padded chair at the edge of the bed. Eyes open, body alert. He will guard over Steven Grant Rogers. 

##

A whimper, a groan, a cry, a growl. Shouting. _Anger._ The voice is enraged. 

Steve is inconsolable. When Bucky can register the room, 12ft by 10ft, large window, approx 7:20 am. He immediately reaches out to console _Steve Grant Rogers_.

Something beeps. It’s beeping, consistent unending beeping and there’s a whoosh as the door opens behind him. _Alert. Incoming. Two men. Agent Vassilieva._ No, Dr. Harding. She points at Bucky. 

“Get out of here.” 

“I-I watch over Steven Grant Rogers.” 

He turns and Steve is growling with barely contained rage. Looking up, face red. 

“You do no such fucking thing!” 

Bucky is removed from the room and strongly advised to leave the hospital.

He agrees, heart-rate dropping, breathing regulating, the Soldier fog lifting as his panic dissipates. Steve is in the best place he can be. Away from Bucky. 

Bucky is stopped by the same bored-looking receptionist from yesterday. 

“James Barnes?” 

He looks up, nodding. 

“You’re with Steve Rogers?” 

Bucky nods again. 

“Listen, y’know, we’re happy to have him here…” Her tone is uncomfortable but she’s distractedly typing at an old computer, “but his insurance only covers so much and he has quite a bit outstanding and don’t even get me started on his mom -” 

Bucky slams his credit card on the desk. She jumps, eyes immediately meeting his. _Elevated heart-rate._ Good. 

“Then _do not_ get started on his mother. I’ll pay whatever they owe and that’s the last we hear of it.” His voice is a low growl that reverberates in his own ribs. “Anything else financial, you take it from here. You got it?” 

She doesn’t look bored anymore. Afraid. She takes his card and huddles in on herself while squaring up the bill. She passes the card back across before pulling her hand away suddenly. 

“You have my information.” 

Bucky leaves without so much as a backward glance. 

##

The next day, Bucky returns from a run to a note on his door. 

‘I don’t ~~want~~ need your help.’

##

Bucky still sends groceries and gets a note on his account that his orders have been undeliverable.

##

He doesn’t ignore Steve’s cries through the thin wall. 

##

“Might not be worth it, man,” Sam mumbles, leaning back in his chair, “the kid’s hurtin’ and he blames you.” 

Bucky sucks in a breath. 

“It’s unwarranted blame, Bucky, but he blames you all the same, y’know? Just step back a bit?” 

Bucky can’t help but see Sarah’s frail face, the deep laugh lines in her fair skin, the way her blue eyes stared pleadingly into his own. 

“I can’t,” the words choke him like hot tar, “I promised her. I promised Sarah that I’d look after him. I already failed once, I’m not gonna do it again.” 

Sam has pity in his eyes but, thankfully, says nothing.

##


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Attempted dub/non-con, non-consensual drug use. (Not between Steve/Bucky.) Canon typical violence. 
> 
> Thanks SO much for everyone's lovely comments, you're keeping me sane while I isolate with my mother and ignore the fact that I need to study.

##

Bucky sits at his scope, just staring and peeling the skin of his thumb away with his index finger. It's almost too dark to see the details of the streets that would make him more comfortable. 

But he does eventually see Steve, his bright, blonde hair illuminated under one of the working street lamps. There's someone walking beside him. _A man, approx. 5’11”, 180lbs, dark hair. Eye color unknown. Age unknown. Name unknown._

Steve stumbles a little before he catches himself against a wall and the other man leans in, pushing his tongue deep into Steve's waiting mouth. His large hands maul Steve's clothes, run up under his jacket _take your filthy fucking hands off hi –_

But then Steve is pushing him away with a giggle and his spine is liquid but he's still pointing towards the apartment building. They walk towards the building and the guy grins _sneers_ behind Steve's back. Bucky notices the outline of the man's erection through his jeans. 

Almost four minutes later, Bucky hears two sets of footsteps, with Steve stumbling and giggling in a high-pitched way that makes Bucky's heart clench. He sounds _sad._

But then Steve says something that makes Bucky's whole body seize and his hair stands on end. 

“Jeez, wha' was inthat drink?” 

_Rohypnol is most successful to fully incapacitate. In small doses, affects judgment, memory, motor skills –_

Bucky pulls his apartment door open and presses his foot between Steve's door and the door-jamb before Steve can shut it. 

“De fuck?” 

Steve sounds confused _slurred speech, delayed reactions_ until he pulls the door open again and sees Bucky standing there. His eyes are glassy, face pale, hair mussed from _that man's hands._

“Whadda you want?” His eyes blink slowly before his features set in anger. 

Bucky doesn't know, he can't meet his eyes but he's shaking and he's afraid. Afraid for Steve. 

“Just wanted to make sure you're okay,” Bucky mumbles, studying the man behind Steve; how he's almost surveying the room. 

Steve grins, sudden and fake _fake fake_ and he ignores the tears in his eyes. 

“I'm great, James, thanks. Thank youuu,” his cheeks are flushed deep like cherries, a tear falls from one eye, “me and Brad… Chad, Brad?” Steve turns to the man. 

“Brad,” he responds, voice gruff, a smirk firmly in place. Steve turns back to Bucky. 

“Me and _Brad_ are gonna have ssssome fun.” He hiccups and Bucky steps closer. Steve doesn't seem to notice. 

He lets his voice drop. 

“How much have you had to drink, Steve?” 

Steve pulls away, face like thunder. 

“How fuckin' dare you? I don- don't need you here. My parents're dead, James, I donneed another one.” 

The door slams in his face then and Bucky shivers. He has a bad feeling. A gut feeling. His instincts haven't left him. He returns to his apartment and, for the first time, doesn't lock the door behind him. He wants it to be easily opened in case Steve needs him. He squats next to the wall he shares with Steve's apartment, ear pressed to the thin plaster, and waits. _Hopes._ Hopes that he is wrong. 

Six minutes later, Bucky is steady, sitting silently, posture at attention in case something happens. 

There's clothing hitting the floor, mumbles, moans, voices low and seductive. Growing in volume and maybe anxiety? 

There's a thump, another one, and then a bang. A shout. Some angry muttering and then a sob. _Fear._ Steve. 

Bucky hurls himself through the apartment, throwing open his door and breaking through Steve's door shoulder first, splintering the wood. 

He finds _Brad_ , almost fully dressed, and Steve, _beautiful Steve_ , naked and being held by his neck to the wall. Brad is in his face and Steve's face is twisted in agony. 

Bucky may have one arm but he has at least 40lbs and a couple of inches on Brad so he grabs him by the neck and drags him away from Steve. He throws him bodily to the floor. 

A voice screeches, “I just gave him a little!” 

Something happens. 

_24 vulnerabilities. Trachea. Larynx. Esophagus. Sternum. Carotid. Nose. Tongue, easily torn. Each eyeball. Ribs - perforate lungs. Femoral artery, quick, messy, efficient. Lye to dispose of –_

Small, strong hands, long fingers, thin arms around his shoulders and chest. Someone's crying. 

“James, James, please, stop!” 

Bucky looks down and notices the bloody face before him, the broken nose, how his thumb is digging deftly into _Brad's_ trachea. 

_Breathing necessary. Brain death imminent in 6 minutes, 34 seconds._

Bucky inhales a struggling breath, noisy and copper-tinged. He falls back, shaking, his hand covered in blood. _Blood-stained._ Steve can't be near the blood. He won't _let_ him. 

Bucky feels Steve’s warm narrow chest against his back, his delicate arms around his shoulders, his heaving breath in his ear. 

Steve's arms leave his body but Bucky won't meet his eyes, keeps his back to him, trying to cover Brad from Steve's sight. 

Bucky stands and wraps Brad's jacket around his heavy shoulders. Brad isn't unconscious but he's too terrified to react and that's almost better. Bucky walks Brad out of the apartment and doesn't look back. 

Bucky walks Brad to the nearest subway station and has some choice words regarding the illegal substance he used against Steve and regales the man with just some of his _skills_ and how he could use them. 

He lets Brad watch as he memorizes the information on his driver’s license. 

Brad cries the entire time and promises he won't say a thing. The Soldier will find him if he does.

When he returns to his apartment, Steve is standing at his door, fully dressed in warm, loose clothes. Bucky notices the forming bruises around his neck before anything else and he sees red. 

Before Bucky knows what he's doing, his trembling fingers are touching Steve's long pale neck. The blonde's pulse escalates, he swallows thickly. Then Bucky's pulling away, apologizing. There’s blood on his hand.

“S-sorry, Steve. M'sorry, sorry,” Bucky's mumbling and shaking and why can't he just act like _a normal fucking person_.

The Soldier still has a grasp inside his brain and he’s shaking, mind broken. There’s something wrong and he - 

Steve's voice murmurs like crashing waves just outside the periphery. 

“S'okay.” 

Bucky glances up and, third time lucky, finally meets Steve's blue eyes. His dark lashes are clumped together, framing the pink of his raw eyes. He's visibly trembling, teeth chattering. _Shock._

“I broke your door,” Bucky mumbles, glancing at the door where it's splintered away from the lock. 

Steve manages a weak chuckle at that, sniffling. 

“Yeah, mmm. Alternative woulda been worse.” 

Bucky shudders, nodding along with Steve's words. 

“M'still sorry. I heard the – and I didn't know if you wanted – and it was like he'd given you something and I thought… and I know you hate me b-but I was _afraid._ ” 

He's said it. He's been afraid for Steve since he first saw him; so small and fragile. Since he saw him sick and frail but still fiery and stubborn. Since he saw Sarah ill and sweet and _caring._ Since she died. Since Steve disappeared. Not physically but, still, _disappeared._

“Thank you,” Steve whispers then, voice small and still slightly slurred and the drugs must still be in his system but the adrenaline kicked off some of the effects. 

“Did, did I do okay? I… I wouldn’t’ve, I wouldn’t have… Steve, I know you don’t like - you don’t want me around but -” 

“No, stop.” Steve frowns, pressing shaking fingers to Bucky’s arm, “I’m really grateful.” 

Bucky feels his whole body deflate, sagging, he did something right. He did okay. He - he protected Steve and he’s _grateful_. 

“Do, um... do you wanna stay at mine tonight? I can get the super tomorrow or, or someone else? I could fix the door but, y'know, dunno how long it'd take one-handed.” 

Steve's eyes are wide but there's a smile lingering at the corner of his lips. 

“You just kicked the shit out of a guy one-handed.” 

There’s no pride in what Bucky feels, just the Soldier’s satisfaction thrumming under his skin. 

“Woulda said I had him on the ropes,” the smile falls from his lips. 

Bucky tries to smile through the churning in his stomach. 

“Sure you did.” 

##


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings for this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks SO MUCH for everyone's lovely comments and kudos on the last chapter. You're all the best! I hope this chapter will give you a little something of what you were looking for ^_^ 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! X

##

They decide to stay at Steve's. 

Bucky won’t let Steve go home without him - and Steve doesn’t seem to mind much - when Bucky insists on keeping him in his own apartment while he showers and changes from his blood-stained clothing. When he emerges from the bathroom, he sees Steve sitting, curled up on his couch, eyes staring into the distance. He doesn’t even seem to notice when Bucky walks into his line of vision and waits for him to look up. 

“C’mon, kid,” Bucky suppresses a shudder at the thought of what his hand has done and reaches out to Steve. Steve greedily wraps both of his hands around Bucky’s one and follows him out of the room. Bucky can feel how clammy his skin is, how his fingers tremble and his pulse jumps sporadically. 

Bucky locks his own apartment door and barricades Steve's door once they're sequestered inside. He moves the large bookcase across the wall and slides it in front of the door and when he turns around, he sees Steve staring into his bedroom from outside. 

He's trembling so Bucky approaches quietly, but not silently. He makes sure Steve can see him to his left before he settles beside him. 

“I wanted to forget.” 

Bucky swallows and turns his head to see the silent tears glistening on wet cheeks. 

“There's nothing wrong with that.” 

Steve continues like he hasn't heard. 

“Just for a minute. I wanted the pain to go away... just for one minute.” 

Bucky stares at the blood on Steve's bedroom floor. He doesn’t know what to say so he thinks of what needs to be done.

“You have any cleaning products?” 

Steve turns to stare at him then and just nods. He leaves, before returning with a bucket, bleach and a couple of rags. Bucky takes them and walks into the room. Steve doesn't even argue. 

When it's cleaned _Soldier is adept at clean up_ and smelling only of bleach, Bucky returns to the living area and sees Steve hunched on the couch, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. Black like tar, creamy with milk. _Sugar. Sweet tea is good for shock._

There's a mug waiting for Bucky on the coffee table. He goes to sit on another chair but the only one left is Sarah's and so he just stands there, awkward, unable to decide what's worse. 

Steve must notice, he whispers softly, “sit beside me.” 

Bucky hesitates, glancing between the couch and chair. Steve's voice grows high. _Distressed._

“Please.” 

Bucky settles on the other end of the couch, wedged against one side. Steve is facing him, knees up to his chest. He looks younger than usual. Bucky hears him swallow. 

“Only my mom knew I was gay. I guess you know now too.” 

That's not what Bucky expected Steve to say. Barely even registered in the important points of this evening. _All mission parameters necessary._ He frowns and glances at Steve from under his damp hair. He shrugs. 

“S'not a big deal, not anymore.” 

Steve stays silent for a while but Bucky can feel that intense blue gaze on his cheek, it almost feels like a physical thing. _Touch._

“I've never been with someone,” Steve croaks, voice filled with tears, “mom said it'd happen. N-no one liked me before, y'know? I'm... m'not hot or, or y'know muscly or tall or even _healthy._ B-but she said someone would want me someday and, and I thought -” He sniffles, deep and wet, claggy in the back of his throat. “I would've gone willingly.” His breath hiccups then and he presses his face to his knees. _Shame._ “And that's somehow even worse.” 

Bucky feels numb. _Temperature normal, heart rate settling 50BPM, hand steady, mission acquired Brad McD-_

He wishes he had killed Brad. 

Bucky's heart rate spikes as the pushes the words out like a curse, “you did nothing wrong.”

“I just,” his voice is tiny, tinny, continuing like Bucky hasn’t spoken, “I just want someone to love me.” 

Bucky's eyes burn and he can remember a time before. When he knew there were people waiting at home for him. It's worse since he came back, that he remembers for sure that no one loves him either. 

“I'm alone too.” 

The words are out before he can register it. It's too late to grab them and shove them back inside his _stupid fucking_ mouth. _Conceal weakness._ This isn’t about you. 

Steve looks up too suddenly, neck snapping. He stays silent and just stares at Bucky so he tries to continue. 

“Your ma is the only person that was nice to me in a real long time.”

“What about Sam?” 

Bucky snorts, his head dropping back against the couch. 

“Poor Sam. Babysitter. Sticks around ‘cause he’s, I dunno, afraid I'll lose the plot again.” 

They sit in silence for a while. Bucky closes his eyes and he rests, breathing even. The air is still, warm, couch soft under him, older than Steve probably, sinking in all the right places. A clock ticks somewhere nearby, _tick tock tick tock._

“Like, like tonight? It, it was like you couldn’t hear me when you were, um, punching and - ” 

Steve’s voice quivers and Bucky feels the blood rush to his legs. _Fight, flight, freeze, fawn._

“He was hurting you. I couldn’t let him hurt you.” _It was you or him._ “I gotta protect you.” 

The couch moves slightly from the other end. He lets his head roll to the side and opens his eyes. Steve is staring at him in awe and his large blue eyes are wide and wet and his lip quivers.   
Bucky doesn't know what to do. _Emotion is weakness._

“Will you give me a hug?”

Bucky’s heart stops in his chest and he wonders if he can even touch Steve without the smaller man crumbling in his grasp. 

“I don’t think, Steve, I’m. I’m not, m’not good wi-” 

“Please,” Steve whimpers, head hanging low, “I haven’t had a hug since -” 

Fuck. 

“Okay.” 

Bucky takes Steve’s cup from him and places it on the coffee table in front of them. Steve can’t seem to meet his eyes, pliable like a doll. 

They both move halfway and meet in the middle. Bucky wraps his arm around Steve's small, heaving shoulders. He presses his face into Bucky's collarbone and wraps his arms around his torso, clasping them in the middle of his back. 

Bucky tries to do whatever feels natural so he presses his cheek to the top of Steve's head. He smells like something sweet and soft. 

Steve’s low voice is muffled in Bucky’s shirt. 

“You give nice hugs.” 

The words settle warm in his stomach, purring like a cat. He didn’t know he could use his body for safety or comfort. It’s nice. He likes it. 

“This is the first time in a while that I wish I had two arms.” 

Steve tightens his hold. Eight minutes later, he's asleep. Bucky silently vows to hold Steve whenever he wants.

It's not long before Steve wakes again with a huff and a soft 'Mom?' on his lips. Steve then seems to register Bucky's body against his own; he blinks a few times and looks up at Bucky's face. His eyes wet and devastated. Steve stares at him for more than a minute.

“Sometimes, just for a second,” his voice is soft and grey, barely there, “I forget she's gone,” he presses his face back into Bucky's chest, “and it's the best part of my day.” 

Bucky's eyes and nose grow warm and itchy and his chest twists painfully just under Steve's face. This kind of visceral grief is so foreign, _so long ago_ , that he can only feel Steve's. Feel for him. He doesn't say anything, there's nothing he can say. He can't sympathize; his parents died long ago and he was probably suspended on ice at the time. Or murdering people. Not exactly familiar territory. 

And Sarah. He can’t think about Sarah right now. 

So Bucky just runs his fingers through silken, slightly greasy hair. Silence settles over them as the sky grows brighter. 

“I'm afraid I'll always be alone.” 

Bucky's chest tightens, the words so quiet he almost can't hear them between Steve's labored breaths. 

He doesn't know if it's a consolation but Bucky presses his lips to Steve's hair and whispers, “we can be alone together.” 

Steve pulls back to sit up and Bucky misses the downy-soft warmth of him against his chest. He looks at Bucky and his eyes look even bluer than before. 

“Yeah?” 

Bucky just nods, a smile tilting his lips upwards in spite of himself for just a second. 

“Yeah.” 

“Can… can I call you Bucky?” 

_Sun-warmed skin and fresh freckles on pale skin and -_

Bucky can feel a grin spread across his face, “I’d like that.” 

Steve blushes, staring at his lap, long, slender fingers playing with a frayed thread on the couch. 

“Ma liked that name for you.” 

Bucky watches how Steve's face freezes in place, a sad smile and watery eyes printed on his features. 

“She was amazing, you know that?” 

Steve sniffles deeply, rubbing a sleeve across his eyes. He still hasn't looked up. 

“She always s-saw the good in people,” Steve smiles, eyes distant, before his smile disappears, “not that it did any good in the end.” 

Bucky frowns, pulling Steve to his chest again. 

“Six people, including me, were at her funeral, Bucky. I didn't... her friends dropped off as she got sicker. Neighbors were good but they're pretty old, y'know? I didn't expect them but, but _fuck,_ it hurt.” 

Steve tucks his head into the crook of Bucky’s neck, body stiff, fingers wrapped tight in Bucky’s shirt. 

“I wanted to, to scream. I wanted everyone - the whole city - to just _stop_ because she was gone and everything was going on like my whole world hadn’t just ended. Everyone should know that my mom is gone and that she was everything and they should all mourn her...” his voice fades away, “the whole world. How could they all go on like nothing had happened?” 

Bucky can't remember how to mourn. He can't remember a time before this that he lost someone that meant anything to him. He was a brainless ice pop when his parents died – or so he figures – and he was probably a murderous drone when his little sister died at a ripe old age and he was stuck in some basement forgetting who he was when the Commandos passed, one by one. 

Hydra soldiers dropped off - sometimes at his hand - while governments fell and presidents suspiciously died and monarchs unexpectedly passed. 

_Activists and protesters and irritants and icons. Blood. Ice. Blood. Ice. Fire. Bullets. Ice. Bullets. Ice._

While others mourned, Bucky froze. 

_Dissociation time: 8 minutes, 12 seconds._

When Bucky reemerges, Steve is staring at him. His face is sad and expectant, confused. 

“Where were you?” 

Bucky's hand is shaking and it's cold and he glances down where his hand has _smeared blood all over the –_

“Did I hurt you?” 

Steve just looks on confused as Bucky notices _drying blood_ wherever his murderous hand touched _bright, golden_ Steve. 

“D-did I hurt you?” His voice is clipped but he can't meet Steve's eyes. 

“No,” Steve whisper, shifting closer. Bucky leaps away, jumping off the couch as quickly as possible, “James! B-Bucky, you didn't hurt me!” 

Bucky marches towards the door until he sees the barricade and remembers why he's there. He doesn't turn around. 

“I'll stay in the kitchen until morning.” 

Bucky walks into the kitchen and sits in a gap under the breakfast bar between the trash can and a loose cupboard. 

Steve doesn't say anything but Bucky can track his movements. He walks towards the kitchen before stopping and walking towards his bedroom. The door closes quietly. 

##


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for your lovely comments and kudos! I'm really enjoying writing this fic and I'm delighted that you all enjoy reading it. 
> 
> I won't apologise for the sheer amount of angst in this fic, these two just bring it out in me. But fluff will follow, then angst, then fluff. Etc. 
> 
> I hope you're all keeping safe. Wash your hands! X

##

The super is still not around because apparently he's the most absent employee in NY and Bucky hasn't ever seen the man, doesn't know his name. The handle to his office door is covered in dust so there's also that. 

By the time Steve shuffles out of his bedroom, there's a guy replacing his door and Bucky can't help but notice the small, grateful smile on his face. He floats towards Bucky and whispers. 

“Thank you, Bucky. And,” Steve swallows thickly, his mouth rough like raw cotton, “and I'm sorry if I did anything wrong las – ”

“No.” 

Steve looks up at him, dark eyelashes casting shadows over the purple circles under his eyes. 

“What?” 

Bucky stares at the man installing the door - refusing to look at Steve - hand tucked in his pocket. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. I'm... I'm not right, Steve, and that'll happen and you have to stay away when it does.” 

Steve turns fully to him, bright eyes staring at his face. He reaches out as if to touch Bucky but thinks better of it. 

“What did they do to you?” His voice is sympathetic, warm, quiet. Steve sounds so much like his mom at that moment that Bucky feels a little side-swiped. He licks his dry pink lips, “I mean, mom said I had to ask you myself… That she didn't know a lot of it and... Some day, y'know, you could tell me if you want? I know mom was your friend but, but I'd like to be friends too.” 

Bucky's mind screeches like a faulty record player. He stares into Steve's eyes, too shocked to notice. 

“Friends?” 

Steve smiles sadly, eyes tilting down at the corners. 

“Alone together, right?” 

Bucky manages a smile, “right.” 

##

That evening, there’s a knock on Bucky’s door. He’s exhausted and his head is a little heavy and his skin feels like it’s healing from a bad burn. 

There’s a knife strapped to his thigh and he stuffs his gun into the back of his jeans. _Prepare._

Steve stands on his doorstep looking sheepish. He’s shoeless and wearing a soft sweater with a worn, wide neck that doesn’t cover his bruises. _Mission Target: Brad McDonnell, aged 34, residence 4a -_

“Can I come in?” 

Bucky just nods, taken aback by how soft he looks and his heart rigid with the possibility of what could have happened last night. 

He closes and locks the door, double-checking that it is immovable, before leading Steve to the couch. They both sit, staring ahead, Bucky not as good at faking relaxation as Steve seems to be. 

The blonde clears his throat, pushing his shoulders back before he looks directly into Bucky’s eyes. It takes him a little by surprise but he’s getting better with eye contact so Bucky barely even flinches. 

“Bucky, I -” 

Bucky leans forward a little, fights with himself not to reach over and flatten the little tuft of hair sticking up at the back of Steve’s head. 

“I need you to just let me speak for a minute and, and then you can talk okay?” 

Bucky holds in a little smile because he hasn’t said anything since Steve arrived but he just nods and lets him continue. Steve inhales deeply before releasing it like he’s a deflating balloon. 

“I’ve been so, so horrible to you, Bucky.” 

Bucky frowns, leaning forward, but Steve just gives him a look, making him fall back. 

“Since you, since you moved in, well, at the start and ma wanted to be your friend and I… I thought I could be your friend. But you were quiet,” he smiles softly, “real quiet so it was hard and ma has more patience than I do. I thought maybe you didn’t like me? And you shouted at me in the - by the mailboxes, and, well, I guess I didn’t get it at the time. Then you told me I was sick… I felt so _weak_ and ma was already - and I didn’t, I didn’t wanna face it. Want to face that ma was sick and… and what if I was too, y’know? And you were this new person who, who hadn’t known about ma or, or me being sick all the time and I thought I could be norm - we could be normal for a while?” 

His voice is shaking. 

“But then you saw me, how, how sick, and it was so obvious to you and I figured that you, you wouldn’t be our friend. Wouldn’t stick around because, well, nobody does. Would, like, get sick of me and it’s not like it hasn’t happened before. Too much effort, y’know?” 

His eyes are wet but he’s trying to hold it back with a strained smile, top teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

“I never had friends. I, I wasn’t in school enough to make friends there and then, y’know, when I was, it was a lot of fighting… People didn’t like me putting my nose where it didn’t belong, even the ones I tried to help didn’t wanna get involved ‘cause they’d get bullied more.” he snorts, “I wasn’t popular. Anyone that was nice, well, they didn’t stick around. Not even ma’s friends in the end…” 

Steve stares at the carpet, Bucky holds his breath. 

“But then you stayed,” his voice drops to a whisper, “and you made her happy. She didn’t care that you were quiet or whatever, didn’t care when your mind went somewhere else. She loved the company and,” he smiles a little, “you made her feel strong.”

A tear falls. 

“I was so surprised? I, I didn’t think it would last. Didn’t wanna rely on another person that would go. Y’know, put my - to put the pressure on someone else. Someone that wouldn’t stay.” 

Steve continuously scrubs at his eyes with his sleeves. 

“So I stayed mad because,” he looks up then, devastated, “because it was easier. And, and when you weren’t here when ma… when she… passed. I got even angrier. Because it just justified everything I had thought.” 

Bucky can feel Steve’s body tremble in the couch cushions. So he reaches across and tentatively places a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He’s quivering _hypothermia onset? Negative._. 

“You’ve nothing to -” 

“No!” Steve turns wrapping his palms around Bucky’s arm, “I had to say it. You, you deserve an apology. Ma said, she said that there was, like, other stuff going on that you couldn’t control and that I should give you a break. Not let the anger fester.” 

He sniffles and presses his face to Bucky’s hand. He’s tired eyes blink slower than his normal rate. 

“You’re okay, Steve, you’re forgiven.” 

He looks up slowly, shaking his head, “really? You know, you don’t have to - I, I was _so_ horrible. I’m so, so sorry. And then you were at the hospital with me and I was _awful_ and you still tried to help and, and last night, you _saved_ me...” 

Bucky turns his hand so his palm is cupping Steve’s cheek. He tries to ignore how perfectly Steve fits against him. He tries to ignore the soft look in those haunting blue eyes.

"What would've happened to me without you?" 

Bucky swallows, he doesn't even want to think of Steve's pale skin made blue by a hand around his neck. 

“It’s okay, I promise.” Bucky lets his knuckles trail Steve's cheekbone, doesn't want to continue touching him with the gun calluses on his fingers. 

"It's not okay, Bucky. I could - I mighta seen ma sooner than I thought." 

Bucky's hand trembles in Steve's grip. 

"Don't, fuck, please don't say that. I won't let nothing hurt you." 

Steve studies Bucky's face like it's the first time he's ever laid eyes on him. 

“She’s always right about these things, about how - how you’re good. Just, just a real good person.” 

Bucky can barely believe it. Can’t believe it when Sam or Sarah or, now, Steve has said that. That he’s a ‘good person’. He doesn’t even know how to be a person, never mind good. 

Then Steve is sitting up and pulling a crumpled, sealed envelope from the large pocket in his sweater. He straightens it out between deft fingers before handing it over, meeting Bucky’s eyes. 

Bucky looks at it, reads his name in delicate, messy penmanship. 

“Ma wrote you a letter when you hadn’t come back after a few days an’, and she knew you weren’t gonna. Not for a while anyway.” 

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to feel, that Sarah thought of him in her final days, even when he wasn’t there. When he should’ve been there. 

“She didn’t blame you… for not being there. She, she was consoling me, really.” 

Bucky blinks away his tears and looks up, pressing the letter to his chest. 

“Steve.” 

Steve moves to the edge of the couch, “you don’t gotta say nothing, Buck, I just wanted to say this. To let you know.” 

Then Steve is up, walking towards the door, hands wrapped up in his sleeves. Bucky follows him in a daze, showing Steve out. 

“Thanks, kid. I - ” He opens the door. Steve smiles and shakes his head. 

“Thank _you_ so much. F-for last night and -" Steve cuts himself off with a sigh, "friends?” 

Bucky feels his mouth spread in a grin, “friends.” 

Steve makes his way out, before rushing back and hugging Bucky around the waist, soft hair tickling Bucky’s chin. He sees it coming so he can brace himself for touch. But there’s no pain there so Bucky relishes in it. 

They separate without another word. 

##

_Dearest Bucky,  
I don’t know how long it will be before you read this - if ~~that little shit~~ Steve will give it to you at all. It’s been a hard time, huh? I can feel my days flittering away and I won’t be here for much longer. So I wanted to take the time to write to you.  
I’m so thankful I got to meet you and become your friend. You filled my days with joy and made me feel like I was more than just a sick woman. You let me be a warrior for you and I always will be.  
I love you dearly and I want you to know that it’s okay. Everything ~~it~~ is okay. Don’t beat yourself up for not being here. It’s not your fault. You were here when it mattered.  
Don’t ever doubt yourself, Bucky Barnes.  
Your ~~second~~ favorite blonde,  
Sarah_

##


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Dissociation, mild panic. 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's reading and an extra thanks to those commenting! I really appreciate it. 
> 
> Keep safe everyone! Stay home if you can, wash your hands, and be kind to yourselves, each other and all front-line workers.

##

Two days later, Bucky tries his luck. He is alerted that his groceries are ‘accepted’. 

A half mushy pan of potato gratin makes its way to Bucky’s door. He eats all of it. 

##

Steve starts to leave a DVD or book with each meal. He can’t know that Bucky has to catch up on what he’s missed. 

He learns how far Disney has come since ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’. ‘Wall-E’ is his favorite, Steve is delighted to hear, while Steve’s is ‘Moana’. Bucky doesn’t tell Steve that he watches ‘Inside Out’ eight times in a row. 

##

Sam’s face is spread into a grin and Bucky feels his face attempt to twitch into something similar. 

“That’s amazing, man! How do you feel?” 

Bucky sinks into the couch, can feel his cheeks flush a little. 

“I - I feel good. It feels good,” he lets the words out on a breath. 

Sam sits back too, but he’s energetic and seems almost happier than Bucky does. 

“He sounds like a good kid, y’know? That couldn’t’ve been easy. And, the letter from Sarah. Man, you made an impression. You’ve made _friends_. I’m so proud of you.” 

Bucky attempts to hide his smile in his hand, “me too.” 

##

Whenever Steve returns from work, Bucky makes sure there is something sweet on his doorstep; chocolate cake, apple pie, chocolate chip cookies. (He also makes sure they are edible so he does _not_ bake them himself.)

Steve starts to look healthier. Bucky doesn’t think it’s all him but he hopes a little bit of it is. 

##

Steve starts to invite Bucky in after the third dessert, admitting that he can’t finish it all alone. That’s how it starts. 

##

Bucky tells Steve a little about the way his mind drifts, his _dissociation_ , and advises him on what to do when it happens. (Thanks Sam.) 

Steve takes it all so seriously that he gets out a fresh notebook from his bookcase and writes everything down. Bucky promises he’ll get all the pamphlets and information from Sam to explain it in great detail and Bucky still isn’t great with recognizing emotions so he’s not sure why Steve smiles like that.

##

Bucky is exhausted when he gets back from Sam's, having spent the last few hours working on both his physical and mental health - _”One helps the other, Bucky.” “Shut the fuck up, Sam.”_. The sun is setting and he's aching with anxiety and thrumming with tension. He lets himself into his apartment and does his usual checks. He slips into Soldier mode. Mechanical cleaning, organizing, cleaning, organizing, cleaning and reorganizing guns, ammunition, knives, kevlar – 

A knock breaks Bucky's brain out of the reverie. 

The building is full of life, noise, smells, it's only 7.23 pm and Bucky feels exhausted. Broken, tired, the Soldier never leaves him alone. He's just always _there_ and he feels torn in two, Bucky and the Soldier, James and the Asset, Sarge and the Ghost. 

Another knock. 

Bucky approaches the door and can hear Steve's arrhythmia from just beyond the threshold. 

He opens the door and the blonde is grinning from ear to ear, sketchbook in one hand and baking tray in the other. He barges through the door without a word. And then the words come. Incessant and scratching, scraping at tender, raw skin. At the places Sam has already clawed away. 

“So I was trying to make mom's mac and cheese and I think I did a pretty good job but you're my guinea pig, right?” Steve lets the baking tray down on the counter with a bang. He continues and wanders over to the couch, voice bright and airy and grating and warm and – 

“She left lots of recipes and I haven't eaten much, you know, and I wanted – I wanted to eat but I made too much and I thought maybe you could eat too because I know you don't eat enough for how fuckin' _ripped_ you are.” 

Steve pulls open his sketchbook and settles it upon his knees, pencil already scraping across the page and Bucky is still standing somewhere between the door and the kitchen and he feels broken apart and tears linger somewhere behind his eyes and his brain feels too big for his skull and Steve is just – 

“Please, Steve, I'm – I'm not, I'm not okay right now. Please, I _can't_.” 

Steve stops suddenly. The abruptness of it is almost as bad as the continuous stream of consciousness Steve had come in with. The blonde slows his movements as Bucky told him, placing his sketchbook to one side. A deep, long breath and: 

“Can I do anything?” 

Bucky holds himself steady against the counter with his hand, head hanging between his shoulders and that dark-haired girl dead beyond his eyelids and the teenage son of some Russian Oligarch and the British ambassador's supposed suicide that caused more vomit than the Soldier was prepared for and the Starks – Tony's _parents_ – and the US diplomat with a penchant for young girls. And the young girl too. 

_No witnesses._

Eventually, Bucky registers a soft hushing sound, someone shushing him from a few feet away and his broken mind clings to it like something tangible, a lifeboat in a storm, shelter in the snow. So much snow, it's so cold that he feels his fingers crackle and his left arm is mangled, freezing in some grotesque amalgamation of humanity and he thinks he could almost feel sepsis set in if it wasn't for the sub-zero temperatures and then bodies above him like an oasis in the desert and – 

“... safe now and you're here. It's Brooklyn and it's summer and you're okay now and you're with me, Steve, and we're okay. We're safe, Bucky, you're safe.” 

Bucky comes back, plywood clenched in his hand, Steve's words clinging to his skin. He turns to Steve, feels the hot wetness of tears gripping to his lashes. An apparition. An angel in the darkness. 

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, shattered. He bangs his fist against his forehead. There's the family of Chileans, made to look like a murder-suicide, and the Portuguese politician in a malfunctioning elevator and the British Royal Advisor with a BDSM kink gone wrong and – 

“C’mere Bucky,” Steve whispers back, still sitting on the couch with his arms open. 

Bucky rushes to Steve's arms without thinking, knees thumping to the carpet, throwing himself into the smaller man. He can't help but squeeze Steve's torso to his face, breathe him in, tell himself that he's here and he's safe and no one can make him do that anymore and – 

“Steve?” Bucky whispers, his memories assaulting grey matter and rising and it crashes into him and it _hurts_ and he's holding Steve so tight he's afraid that he might crush him but Steve is humming something soft into his hair like Sarah did and Bucky is breathing again and it's warm and Steve smells like artificial lavender and cotton and _so human_ and Bucky wants to bury himself inside it, inside the smell and the feeling and – 

Bucky throws himself away from Steve, clambering backward until he reaches the vicinity of the toilet, puking whatever is left inside him. He closes the lid and flushes, leaning against the wall, breathless. 

_Dissociation 11 minutes, 23 seconds._

Steve creeps towards the bathroom, Bucky can hear his feet padding upon the tiles. 

“Bucky?” Steve tries, voice soft like dandelions in the wind. 

Bucky hiccups a breath, looking up as he lingers at the edge of the door, sleeves covering his hands and his face is so _concerned_ and he doesn’t deserve it, “you shouldn’t be here, Steve. Not, not when I’m -” 

But Steve just kneels down, far enough away not to crowd him, and holds out a glass of water. 

“I want to be here, Buck. Not gonna leave you unless you want me to.” 

Bucky feels tears fill his eyes and he shakes his head, “I-I don’t know anymore.” 

Steve sinks down to the ground and just remains silent, watching Bucky drink. He looks so unafraid and relaxed that it jolts Bucky. He sniffles. 

“Don’t go. I don’t wanna be alone.” He’s been alone for so long and he finally feels his chest loosen but his limbs are shaking like they haven’t since cryo and he’s - 

Steve just smiles gently, letting his head rest against the wall. His eyes are almost lilac and Bucky can’t seem to look away. 

“I’ll stay as long as you want me.” 

Bucky doesn’t say that it might be forever.

##


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Some angst and all. of. the. fluff. 
> 
> Again, your comments are everything. Stay safe, everyone! X

##

Sometimes Bucky will read while Steve paints and it’s so relaxing, Bucky finds himself drifting into some meditative state that has nothing to do with the Soldier. 

Sam scoffs because it’s taken him nearly a year to convince Bucky to meditate and he manages to do it _by accident_. He uses air quotes and everything. Bucky can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard. 

Sam calls it a giggle. Bucky does not giggle. 

##

Bucky suddenly finds himself going over to Steve’s for no other reason than he _wants_ to. 

The seventh time it happens, there’s a faraway car alarm that hasn’t been turned off in almost six hours and it’s been progressively grating on him. Then there’s the water dripping from the shower-head in his bathroom that he can’t seem to fix himself because he has _one arm_ and the super is still fucking AWOL. The blaring sirens speeding down the street and drunken voices of college kids, their laughter and slurring speech, and car horns blaring when those kids run out in front of them and there’s more shouting and birds screeching from somewhere nearby and some antennae buzzing around the perimeter of the building. It’s all so much. _Buzzing, screeching, growling, shouting, wailing, beeping._ The sounds he could ignore on a mission now make his skin crawl and like he wants to rip his eardrums from his head so he doesn’t have to hear it. _Pain level - 92%+ See handler for maintenance above 90%._

He can’t control his heart-rate, the way his thoughts spin dangerously in his head and he knocks his scope out of position with a slam. _Breathing rate inefficient. Heart rate above normal. Body temperature above normal. See handler for maintenance._

It’s late but he can hear Steve playing music from the other side of the wall. He wonders if it’s okay, if he’s overstepping, if this is _allowed_. 

But the walls are closing in and the air is oppressive, heavy on his skin and every sound has been amplified so it’s like a fucking rave inside his skull and he can’t stop it. It won’t stop. _Please make it stop._ He gasps in a dusty breath when he walks outside his apartment, slamming the door behind him. Hand shaking. 

He knocks on Steve’s door with tightly-clenched knuckles. _Pain level - 97%+ See handler for maintenance above 90%._

Steve opens it with a wary glance that immediately falls into something pleased. Before he really looks at Bucky’s face and he’s all too concerned. 

“Okay?” 

Bucky can’t look at him, eyes clenched shut - he makes some kind of pained sound he can’t categorize - hand pressing hard against his temple but he just shakes his head. It’s as close to an explanation as he can get. 

Steve gently takes Bucky’s hand in his own - away from the pressure he’s placing on his temple - and guides him inside. The door shuts behind him and it’s like the noise in his brain calms. _Pain level - 93%- See handler for maintenance above 90%._

It still smells like vanilla and citrus, thick and sweet. Steve’s touch is soft and it knocks some of the loudness away, the sharp pain like needles piercing his skull from the inside.

Steve attempts to let Bucky’s hand go but he grasps at Steve’s wrist with a desperate sound. Bucky can hear Steve’s heart thump. _Inefficient._

Steve takes Bucky’s hand in his again, twining their fingers. _Pain level - 87%-_ He guides Bucky as he wanders around the apartment, turning off the brighter lights and flicking on strings of tiny lights that look like stars and bathe the walls in soft gold. He lights candles that smell like fresh laundry and springtime, whispering, “we’re not supposed to light candles after Mrs. Colucci nearly burned the building down at Hanukkah last year.” _Pain level - 62%-_

He keeps his voice low and soft and Bucky sways, ebbs and flows, and Steve leads him to where they need to go like he knows that if he releases his hand, Bucky will drown. _Pain level - 44%-_

Steve heats milk in a saucepan, pouring solid chocolate chunks in - “some of the good stuff for special occasions” - and Bucky just watches the mixture as Steve stirs, his eyes unfocusing. _Pain level - 27%-_ He feels like he’s in a trance and his mind goes blissfully blank. 

Then he’s being led to the couch, wrapped in two, no, three blankets. He’s not cold but the soft weight of red fleece and an Aran blanket that must be 40 years if it’s a day is heavy and scratchy and grounds him. 

“I’ll just be a minute,” Steve murmurs, returning to the kitchen to grab two mugs. Bucky watches him the whole way, won’t let himself blink until Steve is settling beside him, sinking into the couch. _Pain level - 18%-_ He hands one mug to Bucky, it’s big and has a red, white and blue shield on it. 

“That’s my favorite mug, you should feel privileged,” Steve whispers before putting a DVD into his laptop. 

‘Brave’ comes up and Bucky sighs, his head sinking to the cushion and eyes at half-mast. 

They sip their cocoa and Steve doesn’t ask any questions. Bucky can’t help but glance at him every few minutes just to feel the warmth in his belly. 

_Pain level - 7%-_

##

Bucky feels his skin tingle as he wakes. His body tenses when he realizes that he fell asleep on Steve’s couch, he doesn’t think he ever managed to relax that much with another person in the room before. Not that he remembers. Can’t remember. His head is tucked into Steve’s ribs and it should be uncomfortable, hard against his cheek, but he’s hazy and warm and Steve is texting vigorously. 

“Okay?” Bucky asks, voice gruff with lack of use, “time’s it?” 

“Yeah, it’s not 1 am yet,” Steve whispers, putting his phone away. “Go back to sleep.” 

Steve runs his fingers gently through Bucky’s hair. 

“I’m playing hooky tomorrow so you can sleep as long as you want.” 

Steve is wearing an old hoody and it’s so soft against Bucky’s face that he rubs his cheek against it like a cat, mumbling something even he can’t understand. 

Steve huffs a laugh before settling under him. He doesn’t have a nightmare. 

##


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and I'm so glad people are enjoying this story. Again, thank you all for your lovely comments! 
> 
> Trigger warnings: discussions of previous violence, mild panic, and so much more fluff. 
> 
> Be kind, wash your hands and stay safe. X

##

“He helped me when he didn’t need to,” Bucky looks at Sam, “he made the pain go away. I was able to sleep.” He’s staring out the window, unblinking, doesn’t trust himself not to miss something if he does,

“That’s amazing, man, so what’s the problem?” 

Bucky turns and stares at Sam. 

“I don’t know how he did it, how he made me… comfortable? He was, there was no pain. Like… the pains in my head, they, they didn’t seem as bad and it was warm,” he trails off, “and he was soft.” 

He thinks of Steve’s fragile body, his tender skin. 

“You feel comfortable with him, Bucky, that’s a good thing. Some people take years to develop a connection like that.” 

Bucky tears the skin off the inside of his lip with his teeth. He won’t respond so Sam continues. 

“Again, what’s the problem, man?” 

“What if I let my guard down? What if - what if I hurt him?” His throat is so dry, “if I hurt him, Sam, I’ll kill him.” 

Sam’s face softens, a smile in his eyes. 

“You won’t hurt him. You gotta have more trust in yourself.” 

“I trust me but I don’t…” Bucky scowls, “I don’t trust the, the… um.” 

“The Soldier?” 

Bucky just nods. 

“He just… There’s no -” 

Sam looks thoughtful, “the Soldier took directions to hurt someone, right?” Bucky nods in response, his life was orders and commands and declarations. “But nobody’s told you to hurt Steve.” 

Bucky stops at that, thinks. No, nobody has asked him, _told him_ to hurt Steve. Steve is innocent and would never, could never be a target of Hydra. He has nothing of interest to them. He can be kept away from them, he is separate to everything the Soldier is, what Bucky was. 

“No, I… I guess. I -” 

“And you haven’t hurt anyone since you’ve been back…” 

“The,” he shudders, “that _man_ Brad -” 

Sam looks angry, “he was an asshole! He hurt Steve and Steve was innocent, that guy wasn’t. You did the right thing. Your judgment was correct and you did what you knew was right.” 

Bucky feels his lips quiver, “yeah?” 

“Yeah, man,” Sam sighs, “what you did was good. It didn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t make _you_ bad, you got me?” 

Bucky’s skin warms like the sun dances upon it. 

“Yeah. Thanks, Sam.” 

Sam clears his throat, sitting back, crossing his hands in the way he does when he’s going to say something he believes is truly groundbreaking. “Have you thought about the fact that you’re worried…” 

Bucky groans, because _what now?_

“- because maybe you like this kid?” 

Bucky does not like Steve. Or, well, if he _does_ like Steve it’s because he is everything Bucky isn't. He's young and independent, determined and strong, warm and _innocent_ with so much potential and life ahead of him and people who love him or at least _loved_ him and Sarah was magic and she could only raise someone like Steve. 

Bucky wants to be innocent. Wants to remember what it was like to be young and lacking gun calluses, with two arms and able to sleep without a scope at his window or a gun under his pillow or alarms on his windows and multiple locks on his door. 

“I don't like Steve. Not like that. I-I can’t, like that…” He can feel the sweat on his brow but resolutely ignores it, “He's just... He's a - a kid and, and _jesus_ he's just _so_...” Bucky’s feeling vulnerable, so fucking sue him, “he’s perfect.” 

When Bucky can finally look up, Sam looks like he's discovered the treasure of fucking Tutankhamen. 

##

They watch movies together and Bucky brings take out to Steve’s when he’s working a late shift, and Steve brings a tray of something cheesy from his ma’s recipe book. It’s not as good but Bucky wouldn’t dare say a thing. 

Bucky has never felt so _light_. 

##

Steve is getting over the flu - “there’s such a thing as a summer flu, Buck” - and lamenting the joys of being outside. 

(He’s definitely not making a big deal of it because Bucky has forced him to stay within the confines of the building.) 

Bucky knocks on his door one evening. Steve is looking better. _Temperature - within normal parameters. Nasal passages clear. Infection - undetectable._

“You wanna come on an adventure?” 

Steve’s eyes light up and he nods, a white grin plastered across his face. He locks up after himself and follows Bucky, humming ‘Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?’ under his breath. It’s pleasing to Bucky’s ear. 

Steve hesitates slightly when he notices that Bucky isn’t walking downstairs but _up_. 

“Where -? I thought we were going someplace! Buck, I’ve been stuck inside for aaaages.” 

“Quit yer whinin’.” 

Steve gasps at that, breath still rattling a little in his chest. 

“I don’t whine!” There’s a distinct whine in his voice. They reach the door for the roof and Steve sighs. 

“Bucky, this door hasn’t opened for literal years an’ you brought me all the way up here to look at -” 

The door pushes open easily before Bucky places a strategic brick in the corner to keep it open. Steve follows him silently onto the roof, taking it all in. 

“I haven’t been up here since my birthday when I was, like, ten. Mr. Hart bought the building not long after and he’s an asshole so he blocked the door,” Steve turns to Bucky, “he’d lose his mind if he knew about this.” 

Bucky snorts, “nothing for him to know.” 

Steve follows close behind Bucky like a baby penguin until Bucky leads him to an old bench that’s seen better days and he steps to the side and stands back, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. There’s a large, warm blanket draped over the bench, with a couple of outdoor lamps lit around the perimeter. Packets of chips and cookies and a large pizza sit on top, with a six-pack of beer. 

Steve is silent. 

Body stiff, _stilted breathing_ , his arms are trembling. 

“Steve?” Bucky can hear that his own voice is small and worried. 

Then Steve turns and Bucky can’t read his face. _Happy? Sad? Appreciative? Concerned? Negative. Data unreliable._

“This is for me?” Steve’s voice is small, surprised(?), he’s staring at the fully pre-planned picnic. 

Bucky feels his breath come in faster, did he do something wrong? He Googled what was a good event to do for someone else, for two people to share, to show appreciation and joy and fulfillment. To show someone that you like them, that you c-care for them. _Mission incomplete. Return for maintenance._

“Is it okay?” Bucky gasps, “I - I thought you’d like to get out…” He feels it try to come on, his panic, rearing its ugly head - 

But then Steve is turning and his mouth is rounding out and making shapes around gentle hushing words. 

“I love it.” 

Steve holds his hand out and waits patiently _1 minute, 12 seconds_ until Bucky takes it in his own and they walk towards the bench. Steve turns fully towards him and smiles, but it’s soft with something he can’t recognize. 

“I can’t believe you’d do something like this for me.” Bucky can’t help but stare at those pretty pink cheeks, how his blue eyes look silver in the amber street light. 

“I just want you to be happy.” 

##


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS, your response to the last chapter was amazing so thank you SO MUCH for that. I really appreciate all your kind words and, honestly, thank god you all like the fluff because it's gonna continue for a while :D 
> 
> I hope you're all keeping healthy, happy and safe at the moment. X

## 

Bucky spends more time in Steve’s apartment than his own. Or when is appropriate. He resolutely will not break-in, even when his own apartment is the last place he wants to be and Sam is busy and he can’t spend any longer outside. He sits and waits until he hears Steve’s keys in the door and waits precisely 11 minutes before he is knocking on the door with take-out already ordered. 

They spend almost every day together. Every free moment at least and Bucky wonders if it’s normal but Google has mixed results. He decides not to ask Sam.

It’s a Thursday when Bucky returns tired and rough at the edges and Steve is in the corridor when he gets home, arms wrapped tight around his waist. 

“Hey Buck,” Steve whispers when he sees him, slipping his phone into his pocket where he had been obviously wasting time. His blue eyes look puffy and a little pink around the edges and Bucky stalls when they lock on his own. He looks tired. 

“Steve,” he didn't mean to allow his voice to sound so much like a breathy whisper, something like relief. A tentative smile curls Steve's deep pink lips upwards. 

“You want company?” 

Bucky feels nothing but relief. 

“Yeah.” 

Steve follows him into his apartment, glancing around like something might have changed in the dull, brown apartment. 

Steve walks over to the couch, curling his legs underneath him, making himself comfortable in the old brown corduroy cushions. Once Bucky has checked everything _subtly_ he joins Steve on the couch, a glass of water in either hand. 

Steve is quiet _silent_ for a while. 

“I'm leaving, Buck.” 

The silence in the apartment is suddenly stifling. Bucky feels the air still around them, settling upon him in an impression of something denser. He remains quiet, unsure how to react so Steve _brave amazing Steve_ continues. 

Bucky's heart doesn't remember how to beat. 

“Ma... well, her life insurance only covers so much, y'know? And, and well, it's too much for one person. I'm... I got into school but I can't, I mean, there's no way I can do that and work so much to cover costs and I gotta _eat_ Buck so, so I'm gonna move somewhere I can afford.” 

Bucky is spiraling. Who's gonna move in next door and why should Steve have to move and how's Bucky gonna have color in his life when Steve is the only – ? 

“... somewhere smaller. Rent a room somewhere but I wanted to say, y'know, if there's anything of ma's you want, like, to _remember –_ ”

His veins have frozen, turned cold _frosty icy snow_ and it's still and so _cold_ as he listens to Steve's breathy baritone, and how would anyone know if he's sad or needs something without Bucky – _the Soldier_ – to remind him that he needs the hospital or – and Sarah is _gone_ and the tears spring to his eyes but he shoves them back down and – 

“I know you were close and stuff and I, I gotta get rid of stuff 'cause it's not all gonna fit in one room and I can't afford a storage unit and,” 

His voice cracks but then he gulps, swallows thickly, continues. 

“I don't think she'd expect it but there's so much she didn't wanna discuss, wanted us to just be _normal_ , as much as I fucking _begged_ and – ”

Steve sucks in a ragged gulp like he desperately needs whatever might be in the atmosphere to continue speaking. 

“She didn’t make plans or - or warn me about what to do and I just, I can’t Buck, I can’t afford it and it just -” And huge tears have settled on the lower rims of Steve’s eyes but Bucky can’t look away because they are so blue and _beautiful_ \- 

“I can’t even decide what to give away or, or sell and I wanted to start with you,” Steve sniffles, and turns away, back straightening with determination, “‘cause I know that I was so shit at the start and she… she was good to you an’-” 

Bucky rushes out a breath. 

“Move in with me.” 

Silence.

Steve’s spine hardens. 

“What?” 

Bucky would hardly have heard him if he didn’t have his enhanced _whatfuckingever_. He licks his lips and moves closer to Steve, speaking softly to his shoulders. 

“Listen, this place is too big for me and, and y’know I don’t even like it anyway. I… Or I could move in with you?” _Fuck._ “Or maybe I could just pay your rent and you don’t have to live with me? I, I know I’m not easy or, I guess, I’m pretty weird but your mom was so _kind_ and, and you don’t deserve to be alone, not now.”

Steve turns around. His _bluer than_ blue eyes stare into Bucky’s, his mouth open, unresponsive. What little color had been in Steve’s cheeks has fallen away, leaving him looking doll-like and a little lost. 

“And, y’know, I have money so even if you didn’t wanna live with me, I will - I can just pay for your rent and you can stay…? But only if you want to. Fuck, yeah, I don’t wanna force you, it’s not-” Bucky’s growing increasingly anxious, his voice becoming pitchier. “Look, it… It was stupid, I shouldn’t’ve said -” 

But Steve just looks sad. 

“I really appreciate it, Bucky. Y-you’re so _good_ for asking but, but it’s not up to you to save me, y’know?” He licks lips and _summer strawberries and cherry cola and those penny lollipops he_ \- “I can do it on my own, I just gotta get my shit together. I don’t need your pity, Buck. I… I don’t want your pity.” 

Bucky just stares at his tear-darkened lashes and can subtly feel how Steve’s body trembles through the couch. 

“It’s not pity, Steve,” Bucky whispers, keeping his voice as soft and steady as he can, he lets out a long, deep breath, “I hate this apartment and, and your mom and you were, like, the-the only thing that kept me going for a long time. I’d love t - I’d be happy to live with you.” 

“Do you mean that?” 

_Do you mean that? Do you really mean that? Do you trust yourself with a small, soft body unprotected from your poisonous grip? An unlocked door between you and delicate, fragile Steve and his breakable, snappable body and his weak, crushable neck and his -_

“I mean it.” 

Steve glances around Bucky’s apartment, at the bare walls and the old furniture and the worn carpet and then stares at his hands, thinking. 

“You really hate it here?” 

Bucky swallows, wonders just what Steve is waiting to hear. 

“I’ve never liked it, didn’t think I deserved somewhere nice…” Bucky clears his throat, “chose it because of the balcony.” 

Steve looks out the window, frowning. 

“We have a balcony.” 

Bucky tries to hide his smile, “yeah, I know.” 

Steve continues to stare out the window so Bucky continues. 

“Your place is where I’ve felt happiest since… for as long as I can remember.” 

Steve launches himself into Bucky’s chest, arms wrapped tight around his torso. Bucky can just hear his soft voice so he ignores how terrified the hug(?) makes him. 

_“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…”_

Bucky isn’t sure what to do with his arm but he fights against that negative voice in his head and wraps it around Steve’s slim back. He presses his nose into Steve’s fine, golden hair - it smells like coconut. 

Steve pulls his face away and stares up at Bucky, his dark lashes like spider legs, his nose pink and red lips parted. He looks almost awestruck and Bucky can’t help but exhale softly at the sight. He pulls away and Bucky is suddenly so _cold_ and - 

Steve's eyes flick across Bucky’s face like he’s studying the intricacies of a painting at the MoMA. Steve moves closer to Bucky again and presses his cheek to his free hand. 

A wayward tear falls upon Steve’s pale, pink cheek. Bucky thumbs it away. Steve licks his bitten lips, eyelashes fluttering and another tear falls, another one. And then another. Bucky tries to catch them all, resting his palm against Steve’s cheek. 

“You _really_ hate this place?” 

Bucky can’t help the smile that springs to his lips, “yeah. It’s basically a hovel.” He glances around. “the furniture was here when I moved in.” 

Steve snorts, “mmm, the Carrolls divorced and left quick,” he glances around, “not many happy memories in these walls.” 

“From me neither.” 

Steve turns his _sea-foam blue_ eyes towards Bucky and whispers into his gun-callused hand, lips moving gently against the skin, “will you move in with me?” 

Bucky stares at Steve’s face, his lips, the way his lashes cast shadows on the dark recesses beneath his eyes. He can’t ever remember feeling the way looking at Steve makes him feel. _Seagulls on the shore, corn popping under a warm yellow light, the peace at the tip-top of the Ferris wheel…_

“Yes,” Bucky breathes out the word and it ruffles Steve’s bangs. The blonde presses himself close to Bucky’s body and trembles, his hands fisted in Bucky’s shirt. 

Steve’s voice is muffled, “I haven’t cleaned in months.” 

##


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky/Google is the real OTP of this story, FYI. 
> 
> THANKS SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVELY COMMENTS ON THE LAST CHAPTER. I love bringing softness to your lives. 
> 
> Be safe, wash your hands and stay inside. If you're a frontline worker, you are the real MVP and you are honestly more appreciated than you realize.

##

Sam is frowning, hands clasped in front of him, an untouched glass of water on the table beside him. 

“I dunno, man, you really think this is a good idea?” 

And, of course, Bucky knew he shouldn’t have said anything. Honesty is _not_ the best policy because Sam has that crease between his eyebrows and it makes Bucky’s chest clench all cold and tight and it’s like he wants Bucky to apologize for something that has literally no effect on him. 

“Sarah was the first person that was nice to me. She helped me, now I wanna help Steve.” 

He hears Sam’s audible sigh. 

“It’s not just about that though and you know it.” 

Bucky can’t meet his eyes so he stares at _another_ new plush rug beneath Sam’s chair. 

“What do you mean?” 

Bucky holds his breath and tries to ignore the churning in his gut. 

“You’ve feelings for him, Bucky. Don’t play dumb. You’re gone on him and, y’know, that’s okay.” Sam states it as if it’s fact so he sits on his hand to stop it from fucking shaking. “You do know that’s okay, right?” 

Silence stretches between them. Because Bucky can’t remember. Doesn’t know if he’s ever had feelings, can’t remember having feels for _anyone_. He can remember long hair against his cheek and soft curves under his hands and the smell of something sweet but heady in his nostrils but he can’t remember _feelings_. He can’t remember, before, how his heart might beat out of time because of a smile or sweat on his lip when there’s soft skin against his own or long fingers in his hair when he’s sure he’ll shake apart at the seams or how calm another human could make him feel like he’s just one full person. 

“You ever… been into men before?” 

And isn’t that the hundred dollar question? Bucky shakes his head, making his best attempt to search the deep, dark cavern that he calls a brain. He comes up empty. 

“I can’t remember,” Bucky mumbles, “and even if I did, it wouldn’t’ve been worth being a queer back then anyway. Wasn’t even something you coulda really considered… I know it’s different now, I’ve googled it.” 

Sam looks at Bucky like he wants to claw his eyes out. More than exasperated, not so much as annoyance. 

“Well, you should google not calling LGBT people ‘queer’. I mean, there’s the whole reclamation but, listen, that’s not the point.”

Bucky leans back, blowing out a long, deep breath. 

“It’s not even about that, Sam, he doesn’t think of me like that and it doesn’t really matter. We’re friends, he just needs my help.” 

Sam meets his eyes again, tender and understanding and worried. 

“Your feelings matter, Bucky.”

Bucky just shrugs. He’s not sure how to respond to that. Do his feelings matter? Does Bucky matter more than anyone else? Than Steve? Not in a million fucking years.

“You think if you help him that’ll clear your conscience?” 

Bucky smiles but he knows that there is nothing happy in it. 

“Some of it.” 

##

Bucky moves in on a Tuesday. He leaves the shit furniture where it was and moves into Steve’s old room, upon arguing that Steve _should take his mom’s room if he wants_. Bucky doesn’t care that his room is smaller. He doesn’t own anything anyway. 

##

Bucky invests in Netflix - now that he has a reason to - and some pretty decent broadband for the apartment. He’s never seen someone as excited about a web page loading relatively quickly. 

“Buck, you don’t _understand_. I been skimming off the diner next door!” 

##

He can still hear Steve’s nightmares through the wall. He doesn’t say anything about it but he fills the apartment with fresh lavender, calming music, and soft lighting whenever he knows Steve will arrive. 

Bucky attempts to make the place as soft and fluffy as Sam’s. He orders large, soft cushions, different kinds of incense, a humidifier that he fills with essential oils that inspire calm and aid sleep. Steve doesn’t mention it but Bucky can hear him snort a laugh every time he comes home to something new. 

Google has become indispensable. 

A few nights later, Bucky insists they start watching the Great British Baking Show. When Steve falls asleep on the couch, drooling against Bucky’s shoulder, he thinks it might be working. 

Mission successful. 

##

September comes and goes with little fanfare beyond Steve beginning school. He seems stressed but it’s balanced out with invigoration and, well, _joy._

His nightmares have lessened but the purple bags have returned but it’s okay because Steve is painting more than ever. He’s drawing on the fire escape, in front of the tv, at the kitchen table. He’s doodling in the margins of Bucky’s newspaper - belaying how _old_ Bucky is, _if only he knew_ on any blank page he can find. He has his nose stuck in library books or in his laptop and Bucky feels proud. 

He wasn’t sure what it was at the start but in the back of his mind, he realizes it’s definitely pride. 

##

Now that they live together, Bucky has realized just how tactile Steve is. It reminds Bucky of _before,_ hugs from his dad and his ma kissing his cheek before rubbing lipstick from his skin, squirming away from Mr. O’Connor ruffling his hair, or Bucky blowing raspberries on his sister’s neck until she screeched with laughter.

He starts off with tugging on Bucky’s sleeve to get his attention or poking his stomach when he laughs or trying really hard to find out where Bucky is ticklish (Steve doesn’t believe that he isn’t). 

After a while, it grows in intensity and frequency. Bucky’s a little on edge at the spontaneity of it. When he can’t anticipate it. 

Steve walks up to him in the kitchen and hugs him from behind without warning, making Bucky tense, his arm braced to protect himself, he can feel his body trembling, until Steve pulls away immediately, an apology on his lips. 

“I’m so sorry, Bucky, I didn’t, I didn’t think… I’m just used to, when ma, we hugged all the time and -” 

Bucky turns shaking his head, reaching out and wrapping his hand around Steve’s wrist. 

“Steve. S’okay, just, just maybe a warning? I… If I can see it coming, it’s fine but… in my blind spot it’s-? So, so… yeah, just let me know?” 

Steve flushes a pretty pink and nods, smiling softly. 

“Can I’ve a hug, Buck?” 

Bucky grins and presses himself to Steve’s body and marvels at how much stronger he feels than he looks. 

After that, Steve always asks permission, reducing it to the word ‘hug?’ 

Steve hugs Bucky in the morning when he first gets up, sleep-warmed and hair ruffled, and tucks his toes under Bucky’s thigh on the couch in the evening, or rests his temple against Bucky’s shoulder as they watch TV.

Bucky starts to learn to associate touch with comfort rather than pain. 

##


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are my favourite. I'm delighted you are enjoying where this story is going and I hope this chapter is as enjoyable as the rest. 
> 
> Your comments and kudos and just that you even enjoy it give me the warm and fuzzies. 
> 
> Happy Holidays to those who celebrate! Be kind, everyone, wash your hands and stay safe. X

##

Bucky’s scope sits in his room and he doesn’t have the best view but he has a better view of the side of the building in front of them and behind the roof entrance opposite, where anyone could sit. He catalogs the changes. 

_Previously unoccupied corner apartment. Blinds up. Dark.  
Plant pot missing 7th-floor apartment windowsill.   
Broken glass pane. Curtains closed. Newspaper, fresh.  
Lights on in 6 apartments.   
Cable loose under 3rd-floor window._

Bucky’s mind, as always, wanders to Steve. He’s smiling more and Bucky notices how the purple bags have paled slightly. 

It makes him feel… _good?_

He takes note of art supplies that Steve might be running low on and surreptitiously refills them, hoping that Steve won’t take any notice. When he goes through his paints and notices a brand new Burnt Umber - of a brand Bucky has never heard of but matched the others Steve has - he looks confused for a second before continuing with his painting. 

Steve also throws money into the pot for groceries that Bucky ferociously ignores. Bucky takes it and shoves a couple of dollars in an old jacket pocket or a few more dollars in the tray by the door or maybe even a few more dollars in Steve’s wallet - places where he’ll think he left them forgotten. He ignores how his chest warms up when he sees the light in Steve’s eyes when he finds the crumpled bills in his coat pocket.

Bucky takes the days to rifle through Sarah’s recipes, the ones left in a makeshift folder on a shelf in the kitchen. He’s always been pretty good at creating stuff, at combining things, and following a recipe - _following orders_ \- feels easier than he’s probably comfortable with but Steve needs to eat so he’ll ignore the stern voice in his head and melt cheese over the delicious-smelling lasagne. 

He times it so it’ll be ready when Steve returns home at 6.40 pm. 

But then it’s 7.15 pm and Steve still hasn’t returned and Bucky isn’t panicking exactly but he does want to tear his own skin off so he’ll have something better to do than watch the clock.

Until the door opens quietly and Bucky is instantly on his feet to greet a bloodied and bruised Steve. Bucky immediately presses his hand to Steve’s body, which causes a gasp, before Steve shuts and locks the door behind him. 

One of his eyes is already blue, red, bordering on a severe enough black eye and his lip is split and there is righteous indignation coloring his cheeks and a torn seam on his coat. 

Bucky dampens down the urge to _find, break, destroy_ and glances over Steve’s injuries. _Nothing life-threatening._

“What happened, Steve?” 

Steve opens his eyes and stares at Bucky, wrinkling his nose. 

“Some fucking assholes were following a schoolgirl and she was so _scared,_ Buck.” 

Bucky sighs and his chest warms without his consent until he steps forward and wraps his arm around the blonde delicately. Says the best thing he can think of, what warms Bucky inside when it's said to him. 

“You’re a good man.”

Steve just chuckles, before gasping at the pain - evidently - in his ribs. 

“Haven’t heard that often. Usually just too nosy for my own good.” 

Bucky smiles softly, pulling away. He presses his palm to Steve’s punch-warmed cheek. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” 

Bucky adds a couple of containers of magnesium salts to their grocery order after that. 

##

Bucky takes a picture of everything Steve creates. Every doodle, every painting, every pencil stroke… Bucky doesn’t tell him. 

##

Bucky’s phone rings out of the blue. Three people have his number; Steve, Sam, and Tony. 

It’s Tony. 

Bucky doesn’t want to answer but seeing as he has his eye stuck in his scope, he figures it’s as good a time as any. 

“Tony,” Bucky answers, voice stern and eye wide open. There has been a subtle change to the antennae on the building across from them and Bucky can’t seem to get it out of his head. 

“It’s been eleven months and that’s how you greet me?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“I’m kinda busy, Tony,” okay, he’s not but Tony doesn’t know that, “what can I do for you?” 

There is some clanging in the background and Tony clears his throat. 

“Well, I was full of martinis and this new synthetic shit at the weekend and had a breakthrough on your arm.” 

Bucky runs cold, anxiety coursing in his veins. It’s not something he expected. 

“What kind of breakthrough, Tony? And I thought you were sober?” 

It’s like he can hear how Tony’s eyes roll in his skull. 

“Sober shmober. I came up with some ideas and, after talking to Helen and Bruce, it’s pretty much a go that we can attach a new arm without the invasion of the old one. I mean we still gotta implant a base into your shoulder to hold the thing. Manufactured nerve endings can be, like, wifi’d to that scrambled egg of a brain and you can even detach it and let it run riot like the hand from the Addams Family.” 

Bucky stares at the newly broken gutter over the balcony across the street. 

“I know you’re attempting to make a joke that I won’t understand but the Addams Family were in the funnies. Didn’t have anything ‘bout a hand though.” 

Tony snorts, “I forget I’m speaking to a geriatric. Anywaaaaay, I have the measurements and manufacturing will take, like, a couple of hours in the 4d printer and you’ll have it installed in minutes. There’s just the little teeny-tiny operation to get you started. When can you get here?” 

Bucky turns away from the scope and just sits. Thinking. 

“How long will it take?” 

He can almost hear Tony roll his eyes _through_ the phone. 

“The operation?” 

“Yes, Tony.” 

“Couple of hours… A few days recovery.” And Tony sounds like he could be talking about literally anything else besides Bucky’s body or, y’know, a fucking human.

So he asks, “is it weaponized?” 

Silence greets him on the other end of the phone and he feels his stomach clench. 

“Tony.” 

Tony sighs and something resumes clanging in the background. 

“It’s not exactly weaponized. There are no weapons, per se, but it’s stronger than the last one and lighter because _that was a heavy son of a bitch_ like seriously how did you even carry that shit around everywhere -?” 

“Tony,” Bucky repeats because if he doesn’t actually tell him now he’s gonna hang up and it’ll be another eleven months before -

“Okay, yeah, so lighter, stronger, more streamlined. No weapons attached or whatever, alright?” 

Bucky mumbles non-committally. 

“Ever the conversationalist, Terminator. So what do you think?” 

Bucky’s been able to get around with one arm, he’s been able to live a normal life with one arm but then he thinks back to Steve. When Steve was sad and needed a hug and, at that moment, all Bucky wanted was two arms to wrap around his skinny body and hold him tight against him. 

“When’s the soonest you can do it?” 

##


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's reactions to Bucky's new arm for hugs made me cackle, I'm not even gonna lie. But seriously thank y'all SO MUCH for your love and comments and kudos and everything else. You're so sweet. I hope you like where this is going.
> 
> I'm still in isolation with my mother and you guys and this fic may be part of the reason why I haven't killed her yet so THANKS :D 
> 
> I hope you all are safe, not only from this virus, but that you are safe in your homes and with the people who love you. Be kind to each other X

##

They schedule the implant surgery for a week later. Sure, Bucky will have to be put under for a while but he’s been put under for worse and the socket will be the worst part of this whole thing and then he’ll have a free fucking arm that wasn’t forced into his body by Nazis. 

Bucky doesn’t tell Steve. 

He doesn’t tell Steve for a myriad of reasons. Steve’s just started school, he’s doing well. He still works and has homework and is already stressed enough so, no, he’s not gonna tell him. He’s just going to disappear for a few days and Steve will hardly even notice. 

_Shut up, Sam. It’ll be fine._

But in the lead up to the surgery, Steve frowns at Bucky more. He can feel Steve’s clear-blue gaze on the back of his head, lingering on the side of his face, the way he presses slightly closer on the couch when they’re in the middle of ‘It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia’. 

Steve is staring at him before he leans over and grabs the control to pause the show. He huffs and sits back against the couch arm, turning his body to Bucky. 

Bucky doesn’t say anything but he turns a little to look back at him with confidence that he certainly doesn’t feel. 

Steve pushes a breath out and his brow furrows but he still can’t meet Bucky’s eyes. 

“Are you sick?” 

Bucky’s heart stalls in his chest. 

“What?” 

Steve’s lower lip quivers. 

“Don’t fuck with me, Bucky. Are you sick?” 

Bucky shifts closer, pressing his hand to Steve’s socked foot. 

“No. Jesus. No, Steve, I’m not. Why would you ask?” 

Steve does meet his eyes then and they are dry and cold and lost. He sucks in a shuddery breath and stares at a spot beyond Bucky’s head. 

“You’re acting weird. Like when mom…” 

But he doesn’t have to finish that sentence. The tears come then and Steve presses his face to his knees, arms wrapped around his head. Bucky hasn’t heard him crying like this in a while and it makes his heart fucking _break_. Because of course, Steve would pick up on any subtle changes Bucky might not have noticed in himself in the lead up to his surgery. He’s supposed to be a _professional_. If he didn’t know it before, he does now - he is a goddamn fucking moron. 

And Steve looks so small, so broken. Bucky never really thought that the kid would have any kind of visceral reaction to whatever happens to Bucky. He’s not that self-deprecating really, he just figured that Steve would be kinda worried or maybe even _sad_ but then he figures; Bucky is all that Steve has right now. Just like Steve is pretty much the only thing that makes Bucky get up in the morning and brings color into his dark life. 

“C’mere, kid,” he mumbles softly, reaching a hand out to glide against the short hair on the back of his head. It’s been years since Bucky’s had short hair and it almost feels like velvet. 

Steve shakes his head, whining softly into the gap in his knees. 

“Y-you’re not,” he hiccups, whispering, “you’re lying.” 

Bucky moves, sliding his legs around Steve’s frame and tugs him easily to his chest. Steve makes a soft noise like he’s crying before relenting against Bucky’s frame. His fingers clench in Bucky’s shirt. 

“I’m not lying, Steve,” Bucky whispers into his soft, pink skin, “I’m not lying but I was keeping something from you and I’ll tell you now.” 

Steve shakes his head, his hair caressing Bucky’s neck. 

“I - fuck - I _knew_ it,” Steve looks up, his eyes even bluer against the raw redness surrounding them. He growls, brows furrowed, “fucking tell me Bucky, I’m not - I won’t ever, ever speak to you,” he hiccups a breath, “to you again if -” 

Bucky swipes a wayward tear from Steve's cheek. 

“I’m having surgery.” 

The anger on Steve’s face immediately evaporates into something utterly devastated and Bucky realizes with astounding clarity how cruel it was to keep this from a kid who is still mourning the only person he ever loved. 

Steve presses close, head shaking side to side, and he’s whimpering, “ _no, no, no, please…_ ” over and over and he wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. 

“Shh, kid, it’s okay. There’s nothing wrong.” 

“I can’t lose you too, Bucky, don’t leave me, don’t leave me, Bucky, please. Don’t leave me, I, I can’t -” 

“Steve!” 

Steve stops talking, stops moving, just presses close to Bucky but he can feel the way he tries to regain control over his wracked breathing. There's a tremble running through his entire body and it sets Bucky's teeth on edge.

“It’s, it’s not a big deal, Steve, I promise. It’s, I mean, it’s a good thing, I guess?” 

Steve doesn’t respond so he continues. 

“I’m getting a new arm.” Steve stiffens, slowly peeking his head up to look into Bucky’s face, “it’s gonna be a fully functioning, like, a robot arm. Surgery is just gonna be a clamp insertion thing for the arm to attach to.” 

Steve is still catching his breath but his blue eyes track all over Bucky’s face as if to figure out if he’s lying. He looks hopeful. 

“Really? 

Bucky lets a small smile form then. 

“Really. It’s a good thing. It’s just routine and I got the best people to do it.” 

Steve’s small smile, he’s sure, mimics his own but there are still tears clinging to his eyes. 

“Promise me.” 

Bucky just grins, letting out a breath. 

“Steve…” 

But Steve’s smile disappears immediately and he shakes Bucky a little. A frown wrinkling his forehead. 

“Promise me you’ll come home.” 

_Home._

Bucky locks eyes with the kid. He must’ve made the same request of his mom but when she came home it was because they could do nothing else for her. 

“I promise you. I’m gonna come home, Steve.” 

Steve settles into Bucky’s side and clings tightly, warm against his body. 

Bucky feels like something might have changed but he won’t dwell on it. He can’t. He has surgery to get through so he can come home. 

Come home to Steve. That has a really nice ring to it. 

##

Steve wants to know everything about the surgery (classified), the arm (classified), who’s doing it (still classified), about his old arm (it’s _classified_ , Steve) and Bucky notices him googling prosthetic surgeries more often than not. 

His homework is suffering, he’s more tired than normal, he’s painting less, he’s not eating or sleeping much and Bucky has to put a fucking stop to it now. 

Bucky sits Steve down the night before his surgery - not that Steve knows the surgery is that soon - to have a Serious Talk. He notices that the kid has lost weight, his skin almost paper-thin, cheekbones standing out in stark contrast. 

“We gotta talk, Steve.” 

Steve’s face immediately falls and his breathing comes heavier, “what? Is… is there something wrong?” 

Bucky pulls him into his chest, wraps his arm around his thin, bony shoulders. 

“You have to stop worrying about me, Steve… I know it’s probably too familiar, right?” 

Steve just nods. 

“You’re gonna make yourself sick if you don’t eat or sleep, y’know? I gotta have you healthy, y’hear me?” 

He nods again and presses his cold nose to Bucky’s neck. 

“Can-” Steve starts, voice small but more confident when he doesn’t have to look at Bucky’s face, “when is it happening?” 

Steve is so small, so worried that Bucky lets his defenses down.

“Tomorrow.” 

The kid pops up like a fucking meerkat.

“What?!” 

Bucky lets his head fall back against the couch. 

“It’s tomorrow. Steve, so you gotta be _good_ , okay? Eat and, and sleep, I can’t-” 

But Steve has already left the couch, his phone pressed to his ear and he’s murmuring so quietly that even Bucky can’t make out what the fuck he’s saying. He has a bad feeling about this. 

Steve bounces back over and the dark bags under his eyes have already almost physically disappeared and Bucky wants to just… do something. 

“The fuck’s going on, Steve?” Bucky mutters, he’s tired and just pissed with himself for revealing anything about the goddamn surgery. 

Steve is already on his phone and tapping out some shit at lightning speed before he sits back and smiles angelically. 

“I’ve called out of work for the rest of the week and I’ve just emailed my professors -” 

Bucky tries to intervene but Steve just talks over him. 

“I don’t give a shit if it’s classified, if whoever is doing it is classified or whateverthefuck, okay? I… I’m gonna be there, I’m gonna be with you. Please Buck?” 

When he breaks out the sad puppy dog eyes, Bucky wants to find something sharp to stick in his own ear. 

“I’ll do my school work when you’re in surgery and, and when you’re recovering.” 

He scoots closer and takes Bucky’s hand. His cheeks are pink, almost rosy and the way he’s staring at their hands makes Bucky’s chest tighten. 

“Please let me be there for you,” he looks up then, “please.” 

Bucky flings his head back with a huff. He is _not_ having a tantrum. He purposely stays silent and doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes, just evens out his breath and focuses in on Steve’s arrhythmic heartbeat that seems to be quicker than normal. 

“We leave at 6:30am. A car is coming to pick us up.” He turns to Steve and sees his smile _the sun rising over the horizon, gleaming white against the water._

Bucky sighs and squeezes his hand, holding back a small smile himself. 

“Satisfied?” 

If possible, Steve’s smile widens even further. 

“Yes.” 

##


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These assholes are simultaneously ruining my life and making quarantine easier so I dunno what to tell you. 
> 
> Trigger warning: Mild panic, non-explicit surgery. 
> 
> Thanks SO MUCH for your comments and reactions. You guys are the actual best!

##

Happy arrives at 6:30 am on the dot. Bucky notices how his eyebrows jump into his hairline when Steve - tiny and pale and wrapped up in layers of warm clothing - comes through the front door with him. 

Steve, of course, hadn’t originally been dressed like the Michelin Man but Bucky won because _“I’m going in for surgery, Stevie”_ and he’s not really above using shit like that to his advantage. So Steve bumbles down the steps with his coat blocking his knees and determinedly stares at Happy’s not-so-happy face. 

“Barnes,” he glances between the two, “didn’t know you were going to have company?” 

Bucky just shrugs, “I was strong-armed into it,” throwing their bags into the trunk because he’s an able-bodied 90-something and doesn’t need Happy doing it for him. 

A careful eyebrow raises above Happy’s incredulous eyes, “you? You were strong-armed?” 

Steve just grins up at Happy with a beaming smile, “he sure was, sir. I’m Steve Rogers, Bucky’s room-mate.” 

Happy takes his proffered hand and looks almost impressed, staring at Bucky over Steve’s head before looking back down. 

“Nice to meet you, kid. I’m Happy Hogan.” 

Steve’s smile widens a little, “your name is Happy?” 

Happy opens the rear door, “problem?” 

Steve bites his plump pink lips ( _stop_ ) in an attempt to not laugh up in his face. 

“Nope, no problem. Just some people’s names suit them better is all.” 

Happy’s face falls into something just this side of murderous and, really, Bucky doesn’t think his murder face is all that worse. Bucky pushes Steve into the car and slams the door. 

“You’re a brat,” he murmurs as they slip on their seatbelts. Bucky pulls the hood down from Steve’s head while he’s still fiddling with the seatbelt clasp. 

When Steve turns his face up, Bucky’s heart stutters a little. 

“I know. 

##

Steve gasps when they pull up around the side of the Stark Building. The tallest building in New York City that barely manages to contain Tony’s ego. And, for a time, contained the newly-escaped Winter Soldier and the demons that filled his head. 

The floor he didn’t leave for four months. The AI who kept him company when he thought he would lose his mind. The roof he thought about jumping from 66 times. 

Bucky turns to look at Steve’s upturned face, his wide eyes and the sweet smile on his open mouth. He turns to Bucky then. 

“Classified, huh?” 

Bucky flushes and shrugs, walking with purpose through the automatic doors. 

Pepper is waiting in the lobby when Bucky and Steve arrive, her curious gaze settling over the tiny blonde confidently leading the way. Bucky manages to relax a little at the security of the Tower, the Soldier retreating further back at the knowledge of the bulletproof glass and JARVIS overseeing the building. 

“James,” she smiles softly, wrapping a gentle arm around his shoulders. Steve waits for them to pull apart before he thrusts out a hand, eyes wide but steely. 

“Steve Rogers, ma’am, nice to meet you.” 

Pepper blushes a little and a grin floats upon painted lips. 

“Oh, please, call me Pepper!” She wraps his delicate hand between her own graceful fingers, “and you’re the emotional support?” 

“Yes, ma - Pepper!” Steve nudges Bucky with his elbow and looks up at him and Bucky’s heart stumbles in his chest.

Bucky catches Pepper’s eye, blowing out a sigh. 

“Tony ready for me?” 

Pepper’s heels click-clack as she guides them through the lobby and into the elevator. 

“ _Tony_?” Steve whispers as he tries to catch up but Bucky can hear the shock in his voice.

##

Pepper sends them to Tony’s workshop while she gets their belongings brought to Bucky’s old floor. The place he recuperated and hibernated and hid before he moved out on his own. 

“Buckshot!” Tony calls from somewhere in the back of his workshop, the smell of burning metal and sweat filling Bucky’s nose. Bucky looks over and sees Steve take in the movement around him, the robots, the sparks arcing through the air. 

Tony emerges from behind a wall of smoke and steam with goggles suctioned to his face and a still-firing blowtorch in his hand. His unseen eyes must fall on Steve then because, all at the same time, the blowtorch goes off, his mouth drops open and the wall of smoke seems to immediately disappear like it was planned. 

“The fuck decided to let Chicken Little into the building?” 

Bucky just sighs because he can _feel_ how Steve’s hackles rise like the fucking Phoenix. 

“Excuse me?” Steve’s voice is low and dangerous and honestly, Bucky is a little nervous, maybe a tad turned o - _nope_. The blonde steps forward, a deep frown set in his skin. “How dare -” 

“Oh, lighten up Tinkerbell -” 

“ _Jesus_ , Tony,” Bucky groans, pulling on Steve’s shirt in an attempt to pull him back. 

“If you weren’t going to give Bucky a new arm, I would happily rip yours from your body.” 

They regard each other silently, Steve’s face like fucking thunder, and Tony’s somewhere between curiosity and amusement. 

“You’re not so bad, Strawberry Shortcake -” 

“Oh, come on, she’s not even blonde!” 

Tony just snorts and turns his back on them. Steve goes for him but Bucky just holds him back, fingers around the delicate line of his upper arm. 

Bucky whispers then, “please, Stevie,” and Steve just slumps, looking back at Bucky with _those eyes._

“Tony, this is Steve, my room-mate and, and f-friend,” he mumbles while his face flushes like burning, “Steve, this is Tony. When he’s not being a complete piece of shit, he’s actually pretty amiable.” 

Steve and Tony both snort at the same time. 

Tony pokes his head up after a second like he’s just thought of something. 

“Wait, what do you need a room-mate for? It’s not like you can’t afford a place in _Brooklyn._ ” Emphasizing it like a dirty word and, really, Bucky knows he’s not endearing himself at all to Steve.

“It wasn’t Bucky that needed a room-mate,” Steve states, pale fists clenching at his sides, “it was me… When my mom died. You gonna call me my little orphan Annie as well? ” 

That makes Tony regard Steve a little differently this time. His eyes linger between Bucky and Steve and he must see something in Bucky’s face because his eyes soften and his jaw loses the smirk. 

“I like you, Spongebob,” Tony smiles, before Bucky clears his throat, “I mean, Steve.” 

Steve grumbles but his body remains rigid, “I _don’t_ like you.” 

“Fair.” 

##

Bucky hates this part. Where he’s lying on his back in the middle of a white room, surrounded by beeping machines and sterilized metal, he can feel his skin shiver with fear. The little hairs on his body standing to attention but then he looks over and sees Steve, his body overwhelmed by blue scrubs. His tentative little smile makes Bucky’s body relax into the thin mattress beneath him, _sinking into soft, golden sand, salt in the air -_

Some faceless anesthetist blocks his vision and a small whimper escapes from his lips. He’s shaking and the sterile room morphs into rough cinder blocks and the LED lights above change before his eyes to bare bulbs and the relaxed English spoken around him drifts harshly into angry Russian and he whimpers again. 

“Steve?” 

Suddenly there’s a slender hand that cools his fingers to the touch. The cinder blocks melt away and the Russian turns back to English, the LED lights make everything glow.

“Hey Buck,” Steve’s deep voice whispers like a salve across his angry, flushed skin, “I’m here.” Steve puts his other hand on Bucky’s forehead. 

“Didn’t want you to see me like this,” Bucky mumbles and tears spring inexplicably to his eyes. But Steve’s pink lips form a sad smile as Bucky’s tears start to fall. 

“I’m afraid.” One rolls down his temple, Steve’s thumb catches it. 

Steve’s blue eyes glisten _like the sun on the sea_ and he whispers softly. 

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Steve leans closer, sniffling softly, “I’ll protect you,” and he’s smiling properly now and Bucky feels his body relaxing; a mixture of the amphetamines and _Steve_. He believes that Steve will protect him, hmm, Steve… 

Bucky’s words come without thought, tinkling from his lips. 

“You remind me of Brooklyn.” 

Steve giggles, his mouth forming a bright smile that’s all for Bucky, “dumbass, you live in Brooklyn.” 

But he doesn’t understand, he couldn’t understand how much he reminds Bucky of who he used to be. He’s drifting, sun shining above and it’s bright so he’s squinting but then Steve is shading his eyes. The words drift around him like sea air, brushing his skin but he can’t seem to catch - 

“N-no, I mean, Brooklyn from before.” 

Steve’s nose crinkles up in confusion and amusement and it’s beautiful, he’s beautiful, like a mirage in the desert. Bucky’s eyes grow heavy, focusing on Steve is all he can do to fight the darkness. 

“You're weird.” 

Bucky can feel a smile curl around his lips like warm coffee, “in a good way?” 

A tear falls from Steve’s eye and Bucky tries to reach up but his arm is heavy, dead like it’s not attached to him anymore. He feels his fingers flicker and Steve’s hand squeezes back. 

“The _best_ way.” 

Steve says something else but it disappears into the ether before Bucky can hear it. 

##


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are my absolute favourite. Thank you so much for your lovely comments, I really appreciate it. 
> 
> My anxiety is out of control and the only thing that helps at the moment is writing so... yeah. Happy Quarantine! 
> 
> Stay safe and be kind. <3

##

Awake.   
Do not move.   
Keep breathing at sleeping rate.   
Assess damage.   
Scapula replaced - Vibranium.   
Clavicle reinforced - Vibranium.   
T1 to T10 of Thoracic Spine replaced or reinforced - Vibranium.   
Arm missing.   
Heart Rate - 38BPM  
Morphine in system.   
Hibernate. 

##

Bucky slowly becomes aware of the noise. That goddamn beeping. Some rustling. Soft voices at a distance. Colors flutter beyond the florescent amber of his eyelids. If he could just fucking open them. 

There’s a cool hand in his and his fingers try to clench around it. A gasp follows. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s deep voice makes him stop gradually, body relaxing. He tries to talk. 

“Don’t, don’t, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ll get Tony or, or the doctor, okay? Everything’s good, it went really well.” 

Something that feels soft and warm and just a little wet presses to his forehead. He shivers and lets the darkness take him back once again.

##

His throat is so _dry_. 

He coughs, voice caught, gravelly and gross. Then there’s a straw at his lips and he sucks at water that has never tasted so fucking good in his life. 

“You did so good, Buck,” Steve’s voice filters through the cotton in his ears and he can vaguely remember waking up earlier but there’s a cool palm on his forehead and then the straw is taken from him. 

“You can’t drink it all yet.” 

Bucky makes a soft noise and Steve laughs gently but then Bucky’s eyes open in increments and he can suddenly see Steve; pale and perfect and glowing under the lights. 

“You stayed.” 

Steve looks a little sad, nodding. 

“Course I stayed, Buck. Where’m I gonna be without you, huh?” 

But there’s still industrial-strength morphine in his veins so his eyes shut gradually and he can just force out a mumble. 

“Better.” 

##

Bucky’s eyes open and, blinking twenty or thirty times, he finally is able to see the room masquerading as a hospital room. It’s overly large and comfortable, painted in warm colors and decorated with large green plants and tasteful art. There’s a cot in the far corner or more an actual real bed with downy blankets and marshmallowy pillows. 

He just about manages to turn his head with a pull on his tender shoulder and sees Steve, lit by early morning sun; his small body curled up in a stiff chair right next to Bucky’s bed, one of the pillows folded under his head and his blonde hair looking a little worse for wear. 

His hand is hanging over the arm of the chair like it was holding Bucky’s hand and fell away in sleep. His heart aches. 

“Steve,” he whispers, dangling his flesh and bone fingers in the vicinity of Steve’s face. The blonde pops up suddenly, eyes swollen from sleep. 

“Hey Stevie,” he tries again and Steve’s face lights up like goddamn Times Square. He jumps up to stand by Bucky’s side before he grapples Bucky’s fingers into his hands and brings them to his chest. 

“Hi,” his eyes are a little pink around the edges and his eyes are so blue, “how are you feeling?” 

“Like someone took out my bones and replaced them with metal?” 

Steve rolls his eyes and sniffles, sliding to sit up on Bucky’s mattress. His feet dangle. He lays his head on Bucky’s chest and wraps his arms around his torso as gently as he can. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Steve shudders against him, voice merely a breath on his skin. Bucky wraps his arm around Steve’s back and holds him close. He can smell apples on his hair and realizes that it’s been long enough for him to have showered since he’s been there. 

Okay, so he might know what Steve usually smells like and that’s not weird. Really, it isn’t.

Then Steve is pulling away a little and staring at the base of Bucky’s throat, his eyes flicking to his eyes and back again. 

“Everything okay, Stevie?” 

Steve bites his lip, frowning, opening his mouth as if to say something - 

The door opens just a little and Steve jumps up, scrambling off the bed like he wasn’t supposed to be there. 

Tony pops his head in, hand covering his eyes. 

“Is it safe to come in?” 

Bucky can feel his face flame like it’s on fire and Steve doesn’t seem to be doing any better. Bucky groans. 

“Can’t you just act like a normal fucking person for once in your life?!” 

Tony emerges, “no can do, Buck-Buck-Buckaroo!” 

Bucky and Steve stare at Tony in silence. He continues. 

“For a Buckaroo-ing good time. No? Learn your pop culture. Jesus!” 

Bucky feels an oncoming headache in less than 25 seconds so he grasps his nose bridge between his fingers and presses. 

Tony saunters into the room, followed by a couple of other people Bucky knows and, thankfully, likes. Bruce _not the Hulk_ Banner and Dr. Cho, whose calming presence lets him not focus too much on the shifty way Tony glides over the linoleum. It makes his teeth feel like they’re squirming in his skull. 

Before anyone says anything else - or him for that matter - Tony continues. 

“So, in case you didn’t notice, Frankenstein, we’ve pulled you apart and sewn you back together - with a couple of improvements.” 

Dr. Cho rolls her eyes behind him but Bucky wouldn’t rat her out. She moves forward, Bruce walking behind her, with a chart in her hands. Her smile is soft and inviting and Bucky can feel his body relax into the relatively plush mattress. 

“Can we talk to you alone, James?” 

Her eyes bounce from Bucky to Steve, before the blonde nods. He hops off the chair and walks to the door. 

“Frankenstein was the doctor, by the way!” Steve cheerfully states directly to Tony. He turns around to Bucky, grins, and winks before letting the door swing behind him. 

Tony sputters, trying to respond, but Dr. Cho just cuts him off with a loud clearing of her throat and sidles up beside Bucky. 

“The operation went better than expected, James. Your skeleton took well to the replacements and we have your arm ready. It’s in Tony’s workshop, so once you are physically recovered - it should only take a couple of days with your enhancements - you can be fitted.” 

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief, a smile quirking up at Dr. Cho who does her best to remain professional around Tony Stark and the rest of the weirdos in this building. 

“Thanks, doc, you’re a genius.” 

“Excuse you!” Tony cries like he’s been stabbed directly in his ball-sack,” I am a genius, bill -” 

“Billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” Bruce finishes with a sigh, “we know.” 

Tony turns to scowl at Bruce but Bucky just grins at the scientist. He’s always liked Bruce; the careful, gentle way he interacts with the world, how calm he is and how kind he was to Bucky when he first escaped Hydra. 

Bruce turns to him with a grin, “good to see you again, Bucky. Your recovery has gone well, huh?” 

Tony scoffs, “yeah, if that rabid chihuahua outside has anything to do with it!” 

Bucky frowns, “what are you talking about? Steve?” 

Even Bruce and Dr. Cho can’t hold back their smiles. Tony continues. 

“Yes, _Steve_. Legally Blonde wouldn’t leave your side until we explained in great goddamn detail just what we were doing, the drugs we were using, the materials, the fucking _nutrients_ that were gonna go into your IV!” 

Bucky’s heart feels his heart warm significantly and he can’t help but grin; both at Steve’s behavior, and just how irritated it made Tony. 

Dr. Cho continues with whatever technical information Bucky needs to know, without ever understanding, before they turn to leave. Tony and Dr. Cho are near the door when Bruce turns to Bucky’s bed, his head down-turned and a small smile in the creases of his mouth. 

“I’m really happy you have Steve in your life, Bucky,” he looks up then, his eyes almost parental, “he’s good for you. You need someone in your corner.” 

Bucky feels his cheeks warm like he’s standing in front of his ma’s fire. 

“He’s a good friend.” 

Bruce grins, incredulous, confusion creased around his deep, tired eyes. 

“Bucky, I don’t thi -” 

Steve marches back into the room at that moment, a little bag from the cafe downstairs in one hand and a tray of coffee cups in the other. Silently, Steve passes one of the cups to Dr. Cho, another for Bruce, and then he jumps up onto the side of Bucky’s bed with coffees for the two of them. 

Tony shrieks, “oh come on!” 

Steve just grins as Bruce and Dr. Cho hustle Tony out of the room. Bucky can’t help but chuckle at the display and Steve’s smug-as-hell face. 

“You’re such a shit,” Bucky grins, tearing into the bag Steve brought in. 

He just shrugs, “he’s an asshole. Anyway, while you were asleep, we came to a mutual understanding that we don’t like each other. It works for us.” 

Bucky stares at Steve’s profile, his crooked nose, his floppy golden hair, his deep pink mouth turned up in a wicked smile and feels his heart stutter in his chest. 

This might be what love feels like. 

##


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: panic, mild dissociation, nightmares. 
> 
> I love writing this fic and I hope y'all like this chapter! Your comments give me so much joy so thanks for that! 
> 
> I hope you are all safe and secure at home. Wash your hands & be kind <3

##

Stark Tower clears Sam to visit Bucky on the second day. 

Steve is back at the apartment, doing whatever. Bucky told him to relax and shower and just be a non-carer for a while because Bucky doesn’t need a carer. Doesn’t need Steve to put his life on hold for Bucky so he told him that he was tired, just wanted to sleep. 

Steve sighed and Bucky made sure not to tell him that Sam was coming because he’s not strong enough to have both of them up against him right now. 

Sam peeks his head in with a bright white grin and Bucky can’t help but smile in return. 

“Well if it isn’t the Falcon in the flesh?” 

“My man!” Sam greets him, a bag in his hand and a tag around his neck, “this is pretty fucking swanky, huh?” He glances around the private room, eyes linger on ‘Steve’s bed’ and smiles. 

Then a smell catches his nose. Bucky’s mouth falls open. 

“Sam! Did you bring your mom’s bread?” 

Sam rolls his eyes, “you’re like a fucking bloodhound,” he grumbles, pulling a foil-wrapped loaf of homemade bread out of his bag that he puts on the little swivel table between them. 

“I brought you a book because, I dunno, does Tony Stark _read_ fiction?” He places ‘The Da Vinci Code’ on the table.

Bucky snorts, “I don’t think Tony reads anything that’s not a newly-published science journal from, like, Scandinavia or whatever.” 

Sam raises an eyebrow, “you’re in a better mood than I thought you’d be.” 

“I got a free arm from Tony Stark, what’d you expect?” 

Sam sighs like the _most put-upon wife_ that it makes Bucky grin. 

“The surgery and all, thought you’d be a little more… sensitive or -?” 

“... insane?” 

“Jesus, Bucky, no! It’s just, a new arm and all, it’s pretty significant in your recovery. Must’ve been scary.” 

Sam looks so serious, his face scrunched up like he’s in some kind of invisible pain. Bucky just shrugs, he feels warm all over. 

“Steve was there.” 

Sam’s head flies up and there’s an entertained little smile growing on his face. 

“He hold your hand?” 

Bucky frowns, “as a matter of fact, yes.” 

Sam’s face falls from amusement to something soft. 

“He helped?” 

Bucky shrugs, looking at the blanket, feeling a little more exposed than normal, “he stayed for the whole thing. ” He can’t help but a smile a little, “said he’d protect me.”

He finally meets Sam’s eyes and he’s wearing a big grin, “I’m happy for you, Bucky, that’s a big step and it worked?” 

“It helped to know someone was gonna look out for me when I was asleep.” 

Sam sighs, nodding. 

“Good, I’m glad.” He continues on a mutter, “you still gotta get a therapist though.” 

Bucky grins, knowing how much Sam hates it, “you’re my therapist.” 

“I’m your _friend_ and I don’t get paid enough to even do that!” 

Bucky frowns, “I don’t pay you.” 

“Exactly,” Sam snorts, settling in the armchair by Bucky’s bed. 

Then Steve is barging into the room, armed with a backpack and a spare duffel. 

“Hello, boys!” He emphasizes his Brooklyn drawl and Bucky can’t keep the surprised smile off his face.

Sam snorts, “hey Steve, what’s up, man?” At the same time, Bucky says, “I thought you wouldn’t be back for a while!” 

Steve smirks, glancing between the two men. 

“Well, me and Sam figured that his ma’s bread could only be enhanced with Kerrygold so I had to pull my weight.” He searches around for the golden rectangle and places it on the table beside the bread. 

“Since when do you -? You’ve been in contact about this, huh?” Bucky is frowning until Steve jumps up onto the mattress beside his knee and flushes at being caught. 

“We swapped numbers a while ago when you… When you were gone,” he ends on a whisper. 

Bucky’s heart twinges and he’s not sure if it’s because Steve and Sam have each other’s numbers or at being reminded about his disappearance. 

Sam snorts, “you look like you stepped in dog shit. We’re still _your_ friend more than each other’s.” 

Bucky can’t help the way his mouth twitches because he knows he’s been caught. _Asshole._ “Fine.” 

They eat it all between them, while Steve whinges about how terrible ‘The Da Vinci Code’ is and how Tom Hanks’ wig looked like thatched pubes. Bucky wonders aloud what thatched pubes could possibly look like so when Steve shows him a picture of the guy’s hair on his phone, he can only agree. If someone were to thatch their pubes, it would look exactly like that.

When Steve brings their dirty utensils to the custom-built kitchen down the hall, Sam turns to Bucky with a small, pleased smile. 

“He’s good for you, Bucky. You seem different with him. Makes you laugh more.” 

Bucky just grins, a flush rushing to his cheeks. 

“Yeah.” 

##

It’s cold, it’s so cold, and its new handlers don’t know how to defrost it properly and it’s like its blood is burning it from the inside out as its temperature regulates. _Machines don’t feel pain._ On its hands and knees in front of the chamber, it smells like damp and sweat and metal and acrid smoke, and the cement rooms fill with the sounds of their laughter and taunts. It’s burning, acidic in its lungs and its frozen skin shifts like splinters, muscles contracted, flesh fingers blue at the ends and it’s whimpering through the pain, trying to hold in the sound so they won’t punish it. 

_please don’t h-hurt me_

A soft melody just beyond the laughter is jarring. Out of place. It looks around, beyond the walls. 

“Глаза вниз, солдат!”

Its fragile body can’t take the lashes right now, please, it’s too much and its skin is already burning, it’s so _cold_ and it hurts so much. It always hurts. 

_I’ll be good_

But they don’t listen to music, music doesn’t reach the bowels of Hydra. The Soldier hasn’t heard music in so long but it recognizes the melody and it can’t remember where. It - he - can’t remember. 

It’s soft and deep and makes its - his - muscles relax, sinking into its - _his_ \- body and h-he can remember. _Sarah. Steve_

Bucky bolts upright and straight into Steve’s arms. Delicate arms wrap around him with almost super-soldier strength, pulling Bucky’s face to his slender neck and encasing him in warmth. It doesn’t _burn_. 

“Steve? St-Steve?” His voice is soft and frightened, child-like, even to his own ears and his vision blurs with tears when he brings his arm up to tug Steve closer. 

“It’s okay, Buck, I’m here. Told you I wouldn’t let nothing happen to ye.” He still smells like apples and the lavender of their washing powder clings to his pajamas. 

“Don’t leave me, Steve,” his throat is clogged with anguish, body shaking. 

“It was just a bad dream, Buck,” Steve whispers, rocking Bucky’s large body with his own. Bucky doesn’t pull away but he shakes his head, whining. It’s not. It’s _not_. 

“It - it wasn’t j-just a dream, Steve.” 

For his sake, Steve doesn’t say anything, he just continues to rock Bucky gently. But the older man pulls away then, eyes on the blanket. He can feel the way Steve stares at his face, then his young, innocent hands are cradling Bucky’s cheeks, wiping his tears with his thumbs. 

“Whatever it is, Buck, it’s all over. It’s over and you’re safe.” 

Bucky rests his forehead against Steve’s and just breathes him in, self-regulating his heartbeat. Steve just holds his face like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched and, fuck if it doesn’t just hit Bucky right in the gut. 

“Stay?” 

Steve glances up through his lashes and he just nods with a sleepy smile. 

Bucky lies back, moving to the side so Steve can shuffle under the blankets beside him. They face each other in the bed and just grin like idiots, eyes puffy with sleep. 

Steve’s lids keep sliding shut before he jerks them open to look at Bucky once again. 

“Sleep, Stevie.” 

Steve’s mouth quirks into a smile and his lids slide shut with finality. 

It’s definitely love. 

##

Bucky’s old floor is the same. The furniture is sparse and there isn’t a dust particle in the place so he assumes there have been people cleaning it regularly. If this was a year ago, he would have lost his shit - he can still remember the area of the wall that he punched in a fit of something like desperation and fury - but he’s good now. Better. As much as he can think of being right now. 

And Steve is beside him. Standing on his left side, his currently _weak_ side and he’s like a balm, like a salve on his tender skin. 

Bucky looks over and Steve’s eyes are wide, taking in the - frankly - huge apartment, the decor of greys and whites and granite. Cold and impersonal and so different from what he and Steve have now. 

“Jesus,” Steve whispers, “it’s like a magazine.” He pushes forward, ahead of Bucky, and runs reverent fingers over the smooth surfaces. Steve turns then, “and you settled for my ma’s place.” 

Bucky bites his lip, unsure if it’s too much. Too honest. 

“I didn’t settle.” 

Steve turns but Bucky can see the smile light up his face before he turns away completely. 

The next 24 hours consist of Steve touring the apartment, bouncing on the huge beds, clinging desperately to the rails of the balcony - _“it’s really fucking high!”_ \- and asking JARVIS the most ridiculous questions he can think of. 

“JARVIS?” Bucky hears Steve call from the kitchen. 

“Yes, Mr. Rogers?” the AI responds in an expectedly bored tone. 

“I asked you to call me Steve!” 

“You certainly did, Mr. Rogers.” 

Bucky snorts when he hears Steve’s put-upon sigh. “Fine. Can God create a rock so heavy even he can’t lift it?” 

“Mr. Rogers, as the opinion on whether or not there is a God is still argued, I cannot answer this question with absolute certainty.” 

“You suck, JARVIS,” Stever mutters as he walks back in from the kitchen. 

“Only at the weekend, Mr. Rogers” JARVIS supplies. 

Bucky rolls his eyes while Steve beams at the answer. 

“JARVIS is basically the best of Tony, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, I am.” 

##

Steve is sitting on a table in the corner of the lab when Bucky gets his arm attached. He has to take off his shirt - and it’s not like he’s drugged as he had been for the surgery - so he would rather not have Steve seeing his body in its current state; scarred, broken, bruised, evidence of Hydra on his skin. 

But one second of those blue eyes and Bucky would agree to anything. 

So Bucky is sitting on a stool that looks distinctly unlike anything Hydra could chain him to and keeps his eyes on the new metal arm. He would never tell Tony but it’s amazing. 

It looks beautiful. It’s so unlike his old arm. It’s bright silver and molded to match his right arm. And distinctly lacking a big red star like a fucking beacon.

Bruce is to his right, speaking softly, “if you lose muscle mass, it won’t affect the arm. It’ll contract and expand based on the -”

But there’s something whirring in the background and Tony is speaking so _fast_ in his other ear and Dr. Cho is tapping away at a keyboard behind him and he closes his eyes because the stimulation is everywhere and he was trained for this. He was trained to block out the stimuli and focus on the necessities, what’s necessary, and he doesn’t realize his eyes are closed and his head is in his chest until the sound eases and he can just hear Steve’s soft voice and the warmth of him standing less than an arm away and there’s no other sound. He frowns, where is the rest of the sound? 

Steve’s voice is nice though he can’t take in the words and he can feel the tension leaving his forehead and his shoulders and his stomach and then he inhales and there’s apple and lavender just beyond his senses and his eyes open and Steve is there, just to the right of his periphery. 

He blinks a few times and looks around; Bruce, Tony, and Helen are standing beyond a sound-proof door, discussing something intricate on a laptop and determinedly ignoring what’s going on inside the lab. 

Then his eyes meet Steve’s and the back of Bucky’s nose burns and tears flood his eyes. 

“I couldn’t do this if you weren’t here.” 

Steve walks towards him slowly, head hanging a little forward, hands wrapped in his sleeves. He looks so _young_. Bucky sometimes forgets it. 

“Sure you could,” Steve smiles softly, wrapping his delicate fingers around Bucky’s wrist, “but I like it more that I’m here.” 

Steve reaches up and rubs Bucky’s eyes with his palm, letting his tears smudge against his skin. Bucky can’t not look at him. He’s perfect. Perfect. 

Then the door is opening and they appear again but it’s quieter this time, slower, even the lighting has softened around them. Steve pulls a chair up beside him and sits silently. 

But Bucky just widens his fingers, palm up, and stares at Steve. Steve grins and slips his fingers between Bucky’s, holding his hand in his lap and stroking soft fingers over his skin. Steve leans his head against Bucky’s shoulder. 

Tony is behind them so at least Bucky doesn’t have to see what his reaction is, Bruce and Dr. Cho’s faces are decidedly blank, professional, so much kinder than whatever Tony must be throwing their way.

Between the doctor and Bruce, they explain quietly the intricacies of attaching and detaching the arm, cleaning it, the faux skin layer that manages to conceal the appearance of the metal. Steve watches carefully, clearly taking in everything. Bucky relaxes. The care of the arm isn’t just dependent on him and there’s something so calming in that. 

Bucky has to _practice_ for a while before they let him leave, with Steve welcoming Bruce’s offer to email him a list of care tips. 

Jesus, he loves him so much that it might burn him up inside. 

##


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings today, kids, hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> I hope you all are keeping safe and sane. Wash your hands and be kind.

##

That evening, Bucky and Steve return to Brooklyn. Bucky is equipped with a shiny new arm and covered in some robust but tender skin, it looks almost indistinguishable (as much as Tony likes to say it’s completely indistinguishable) from his other arm. The skin is soft and waterproof and removable and, according to Tony, “tough as old boots”. 

Steve can’t stop touching it. In the car on the way back to Brooklyn, Happy glances at them every so often, Bucky notices but Steve does not. Because Steve is running his slim hands up and down Bucky’s new skin. He traces the fake freckles dotted on his skin, trails his fingertips over the tiny, separate strands of hair, stares at the way it moves over the fleshy part of his palm. 

“I just can’t get over it,” Steve whispers reverently, holding Bucky’s hand to the natural light. 

“I’ll be sure to tell To-” 

“Don’t you dare!” Steve hisses, “the Tower can barely contain his ego as it is.” It’s only then that Steve remembers they have company and drops the hand suddenly, looking into the rearview mirror to catch Happy’s eye. 

“It’s true, kid, I told him he’d have to build it twice that size just for that reason.” 

Steve grins, so does Happy. Bucky finds it all overly familiar and just a little strange. 

Bucky watches how Steve’s delicate fingertips trace paths across the skin, the awe on his face. Steve isn’t afraid of the arm, _this arm_ , if anything, he’s mesmerized and amazed and has only good emotions associated with it. 

Bucky likes that. Likes the arm because Steve likes it. Steve isn’t afraid. 

The apartment building still smells like old wood and stale mop-water. Like _home_. 

Before they enter the apartment, Bucky turns to Steve and grins. He places their bags on the ground and tugs Steve towards him. Their bodies come together gently, Bucky reaching up to wrap two strong arms around Steve’s slim torso, one around his shoulders and another around his waist. Steve is still, stiff, for about .3 seconds until he’s almost melting into Bucky’s arms, against his chest, his own fragile arms coming up to wrap around Bucky. They stay like that for countless minutes as Bucky meditates on the feeling of Steve encased in his arms. This feeling he has wanted for almost as long as he’s known him. 

Then Bucky is regretfully, slowly, like glacier-slow, pulling away from Steve. He places the fingers of his _new_ arm against Steve’s hair, ear, cheek, neck. Steve stays still - shivering a little - and licks those red lips, staring at Bucky like there’s something he wants to say. 

“Bucky, I -” but he’s shivering and it’s nearly winter, and Bucky is not going to allow him to get sick, so he’s pulling away. 

“Let’s get inside, huh?” 

The doors unlock with strong, dull clicks, and Steve is silent behind him. Bucky relaxes incrementally like he’s body knows he’s _home_.

But the apartment doesn’t smell like vanilla and citrus. It smells like metal and sweat, sour. It doesn’t belong. 

The Soldier is at attention. Bucky moves around the room like a machine while Steve makes some small utterances and wanders into his room. 

_Vent open, previously closed. Coat rack moved. Bedroom door ajar, previously shut. Slatted blind disturbed. Dust disturbed on bookshelf. Cardboard box beneath couch disturbed. Items on bedside table disturbed. Plant leaf broken near window. Bathroom towel disturbed._

Bucky has to get his bearings, a plan, he shudders. He wanders around his bedroom, putting clothes away, eyes studying the corners, hidden places where microphones and cameras could be stashed. 

Hydra has been here. He can feel it in his bones. 

“What do you want for dinner?” 

Bucky jumps, whirling around. Steve stands there with his eyebrows high on his forehead. _Think. Don’t scare him. Get him away from here._

“Why don’t we go out for dinner?” Bucky asks, hope in his chest. He needn’t have worried though because Steve’s face lights up. 

“Really?” His white teeth dig into his plush pink lip, “you wanna go for dinner with me?” 

Bucky’s heart-rate is still jackhammering and he hopes that Hydra hasn’t stashed body monitors in the place. 

“Course I do, Steve,” he whispers. His mind going a mile a minute, plans clicking into place in his head. “Why don’t we leave all of our unpacking for later? You go get changed and… and I’ll … do the same and then we can go, yeah?” 

Bucky can hear Steve’s little gasp and focuses on his sweet, _glowing_ face. 

“Okay, I won’t be long.” 

Bucky pulls jeans out of his wardrobe and can hear Steve switching on the shower _we don’t have time_ while Bucky walks around as casually as he can. He grabs a soft green sweater and pulls it on, jeans and boots following. He tightens his hair tie and sits there, breathing deeply, calmly. 

_Get Steve away from the possible compromised area. Any smart devices left behind. Get a burner. Send emergency code to Natasha. Also whereabouts. Keep Steve calm. Get Steve to Tower. Protect Steve._

Then Steve is at Bucky’s bedroom door, a little knock, and Bucky looks up. 

_Wow._

Steve is wearing the tightest skinny jeans possibly in existence, his slim legs covered in navy blue fabric. A perfectly fitted deep blue button-up shirt is cut close to his slim shoulders and narrow chest, rolled up to his pointy elbows and revealing the flawless pale skin of his forearms, covering it with a smart dark peacoat that Bucky’s never seen before. Red trainers with white toe caps offset his outfit. He looks bashful. He looks beautiful. 

“I don’t have nice shoes.” 

Bucky’s heart squeezes in his chest. _Keep Steve Rogers safe at all costs._ He tries to smile. 

“You look great. A-amazing,” he stands then and Steve’s mouth drops open as he takes in Bucky. His cheeks flush like strawberries. 

“You too, Buck.” 

Bucky purposely leaves his phone in his room and shuts the door. Steve goes to pick his up by the door when Bucky’s hand over his stops him. Steve’s confused eyes look up at him. 

“What are you-?” 

“Why don’t, why don’t we leave our phones behind so it’s just the two of us?” 

Steve’s hand shakes a little under Bucky’s as he lets that question settle. His breathing is disrupted. God, those big eyes make his knees a little weak.

Steve’s voice is soft, “just us?” 

Bucky nods, “y-yeah, thought we could just, y’know, celebrate?” 

They have to leave soon, now, no tracking devices. 

“I’d like that.” 

##

They first stop at the ancient techy place two blocks over, much to Steve’s confusion, but he doesn’t ask any questions. He just looks at the second-hand record players while Bucky buys a prepaid phone from the disinterested old guy at the back of the store. 

Steve is quiet, contemplative on their way to the restaurant. Bucky notices him glance at him out of the corner of his eye when he thinks he’s not looking.

_I’ll protect you with my life._

##


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS SO MUCH FOR REACTING WELL TO THAT CLIFFHANGER. Heh. 
> 
> Because y'all are awesome and the last chapter was a little short, I thought I'd give you a chapter quicker than anticipated. 
> 
> Be kind and remember that self-care is important right now.

##

It’s a little hole-in-the-wall Italian place that is almost as old as Bucky himself. They don’t take reservations and the servers and cooks all shout orders at each other across the room; screaming drinks orders, the plump owner sitting at a table near the front overseeing the proceedings. It’s perfect. It’s pretty empty when they arrive so they can sit where they want. Bucky chooses a table with the best sight-lines. 

Steve is hidden behind the giant menu, Bucky stares at his slim fingers curled around the ancient leather menu. He presses a finger to Steve’s hand, who pops around the edge of the menu, a silent question on his pretty face. 

“This is on me, okay?” 

Steve attempts to bite back a smile and just nods, “okay, thanks.” 

Steve is almost bashful through the dinner, cheeks permanently pink - though that might be the dense heat in here or the wine - and if Bucky was anyone else, he could imagine that this was a date and Steve was biting his lips like that just for him. 

_I’m in love with you._

When the waiter takes their plates, Bucky excuses himself to the bathroom. He turns on his burner and texts 102 to Natasha’s secure line, plus their coordinates. He knows it won’t be long before someone is there to get them. 

Bucky goes back to the table and Steve is sitting pretty, a little apprehensive like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He lights up when he sees Bucky return before he sits opposite Steve again. 

“You probably don’t know why I brought you here?” Bucky murmurs, taking a sip of the wine that has no effect on him if only to wet his parched throat. 

Steve flushes and stares at the stem of his glass, “well, I thought, maybe, I was hoping that yo-” 

Bucky interrupts, glancing out the window, taking in the details beyond the window, every movement is a threat, “we can’t go back home yet.” 

Steve stops talking, just frowns up at Bucky. 

“But we were just home…?” 

Bucky leans forward and takes Steve’s hands in his own, curling his fingers around them. He stares into Steve’s eyes. 

“Do you trust me?” 

Steve blinks multiple times before he nods, confused, “course I trust you. B-Bucky, I - ” 

“We’re gonna be picked up in a few minutes and we’re going to go somewhere. Our things will be brought to us… hopefully. When we get somewhere safe, I’ll explain everything.” 

Steve’s clammy hands grab Bucky’s back when he tries to retrieve them. His face is pale like ivory, something devastated clings to his features that Bucky explains away as fear.

“I don’t understand, Bucky, I thought -” 

Bucky’s burner phone beeps twice just as a black SUV pulls up outside. Bucky throws more than enough money on the table to cover their meal and then some. He takes Steve under his arm and pulls him gently from the restaurant. The blonde is tense against him. Bucky scans the immediate area, before the roofs, windows, side streets - 

When the SUV opens, Tony is sitting inside, face hidden behind sunglasses and a scotch glass in one hand. He holds his free hand out for Bucky’s burner and runs some kind of magnet over it, before pulling it apart, chewing the sim card and swallowing it with a swig of alcohol. He throws the remnants casually out the window as Bucky pushes Steve into the car first, and then getting in himself. 

“Barnes, Elsa.” 

Steve huffs a little laugh, “I love ‘Frozen’ so I’m not even mad at that one.” Tony sighs like he’s disappointed, before turning to Bucky.

“Romanoff called, said you sent an SOS?” 

Steve turns to Bucky suddenly, head on a swivel. 

“What?” 

Bucky clears his throat and glances between the two. 

“We secure here?” 

Tony rolls his eyes like it’s literally the stupidest question he has ever been asked. It probably is. 

“I think the apartment is compromised.” 

Tony squints at him but Steve’s face has fallen, worrying his lip with his teeth. Bucky can only continue. 

“Before I came to the Tower, I noticed a few things about the building opposite, I didn’t think much of it. New York buildings, y’know? Broken antennae, broken window, new newspaper covering, that kind of thing. But then… then we went home,” Tony’s face twitches at that and his eyes drift to Steve, who Bucky can’t look at right now, “and the… it was, there was a smell, metal and sweat, and not how it normally smells.” 

Tony looks like he wants to interrupt because Bucky knows it sounds like nothing but he also knows not to ignore his senses. 

“It was subtle things, box moved, dust had been disturbed… Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I wanted to be safe, okay?” He glances at Steve out of the corner of his eye, “I wanted to make sure Steve isn’t in any danger.” 

Tony sinks even further into his seat and lets out a thoughtful “huh.” 

Bucky leans back, staring out the window and the buildings that pass by slowly during rush hour. He can’t look at Steve. 

“And here I thought you just missed me… So you think Hydra have been keeping an eye on your for, what, a year? And when you and the Child of the Corn were gone for a substantial amount of time, they rigged the place with mics, cameras, bombs?” 

Steve almost inaudibly gasps at the word ‘bombs’. 

“I don’t know, Tony. I just… I need Steve at the Tower with maximum security. I’m gonna ask Natasha to form a plan -”

“You don’t want my plan?” 

Bucky just continues like Tony didn’t say anything, “that we can use to sweep the place without setting anything off, checking if there _is_ something… And then, at least, I’ll know.” 

Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on him and when he turns to look at him, the blond has lost all of the color in his face but he looks furious, “what about you?” 

Bucky frowns, “what about me?” 

Steve glances suspiciously at Tony before looking back at Bucky. 

“You said you want me safe, with maximum security at the Tower but… but what if there is something? What if you’re hurt?” 

Bucky goes blank. Who cares what happens to him? 

“I don’t matter, Steve.” 

But then Steve is shaking and there are tears in his eyes and Bucky is trying to grab his hand but Steve is pulling away. The blonde snorts through his tears. 

“Of course you matter - fuck,” Steve scrubs at his face with rough, anxious hands, “when you brought me out for dinner, I thought -” But he cuts himself off. 

“I had to get you out of there,” Bucky whispers, trying to understand what is happening and it doesn’t help that Tony is just _sitting_ there, watching. 

Steve’s voice is high, hurt, “and you couldn’t think of anything else?”

“No,” Bucky whispers and he can’t begin to try to understand what else Steve wanted him to use as a viable reason to get away from the apartment without informing any prying ears of his prior knowledge. Then Tony has some 3D image up in front of him in the car and Steve is staring out the window again. 

“Soooo,” Tony starts, Bucky turns to see him with a raised eyebrow, “if it is Hydra, what’s the plan? We figured they were gone, right? Dead and buried after you got out?” 

Bucky can’t even begin to tell Tony how unlikely that seemed to him, especially now. 

“It might be paranoia. Fuck, it’s likely paranoia. But if it’s Hydra -” Tony closes the schematics or whatever is in front of them, before looking out the window himself. 

Tony continues in a tone Bucky has never heard before, “we go for the heart.” 

##


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo things took a turn in the last chapter and that will continue but LET ME KNOW WHAT Y'ALL THINK. 
> 
> I really appreciate everyone who is reading and commenting and kudos-ing. Makes me happy to know you are all still enjoying it. 
> 
> Hope you all are keeping safe and sane, you're the best <3

##

Bucky, Steve, and Tony are in Tony’s suite, with Steve sipping on chamomile tea when Natasha arrives, decked out in a leather catsuit. Sometimes Bucky forgets she’s the Black Widow and not the kid that got away. She walks in from the balcony, dispatching from some small singled-manned vessel like the goddamn superhero she is. Bucky grins. 

“Наталья.” 

“Джеймс,” she grumbles, planting herself delicately into an armchair. Legs crossed, face unreadable, Bucky feels something like joy fizzle in his veins. Or it might be something like joy if Natalia’s face wasn’t so ashen. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

Natasha’s eyes are sharp, her eyes falling between Bucky and Steve. Bucky feels like he’s under a fucking x-ray; he’s not into it. 

“So what I gather is that Hydra is not gone. Obviously,” she points at Bucky, “but now we may have an in.” Bucky gulps before Natasha grins, “a way to gut them once and for all.” 

“I’m bait?” 

Natasha smirks, “but what pretty bait…” 

Steve is frowning like he’s trying to take everything in without knowing fully what’s happening.

Bucky glances at Steve, who is particularly not looking at him, before looking back at Natasha, “so the… trigger words?” 

Tony and Natasha stare at Bucky, Steve just stares at his hands and won’t look up. Bucky is desperate for him to look up, to look at _him_. 

Natasha’s eyes are stern and her jaw is clenched in a grim line, “I thought that was taken care of?” 

“Shuri figured she got rid of the triggers but who the fuck knows what else is going on in there?” Bucky’s voice is steady, overly steady, he stares at Steve’s red sneakers. “What if there’s more?” Steve’s feet are turned inwards, his knees together, clenched, shaking hands sat atop. Bucky can only see the top of his blonde head from where he’s sitting. 

The rest of the room talks among themselves, murmurs that Bucky could hone in on if he wasn’t focused on Steve. Golden Steve. _I won’t ever hurt you._

Bucky whispers then, and only Natasha picks up on it when he meets her eye, “I can’t lose myself again.” 

##

They return from the meeting room that Tony likes to call the ‘war room’ at almost 1 am. Tony had mentioned a movie about a doctor and Bruce had to explain the joys of Peter Sellers like it was something that Bucky should know. He frowns and promises he will add something called ‘Doctor Strangelove’ to his pop culture list when he isn’t concerned about a Nazi Murder Cult. 

Bucky didn’t expect to be back on his floor within twelve hours of leaving but here he is; fingerprints planted on a scanner to let him into the apartment. 

It’s quiet when the door opens, eerie. The lights are low above the twinkling of the Manhattan skyline. He assumes Steve is in bed. 

He isn’t. 

Bucky gets a glass of water and turns, seeing Steve sitting against the window, his face pressed to the glass. He clears his throat and whispers. 

“Bucky, what’s happening?” 

Bucky puts his water glass down with a thunk and makes his way slowly towards Steve’s curled body, encased in soft sweats and lit by delicate amber bulbs lining the ceiling. He sighs as he collapses next to Steve, his body tired in a way that isn’t entirely physical. 

Steve looks smaller than Bucky has ever seen him, pale like a ghost, eyes round and dark. 

“Please, Bucky, just tell me something,” he whispers, hiccuping in a breath, “anything?” 

Bucky wishes he could, wants to, even. But where do you start? It’s not like he can reveal everything in a couple of minutes. Tony and Natasha barely allowed him enough time to come up here and see Steve. He remains silent. 

Steve is too quiet, too calm, his breath soft and controlled. 

“I googled Hydra…” 

Bucky can almost physically feel his heart drop into his stomach, though he knows it’s physically impossible, he feels sick with it. Bucky looks at Steve then, really looks at him. His beautiful face is defiant, eyes serious, mouth in a tight line.

“What did you find out?” 

Steve scoffs like what he discovered is impossible, “some fuckin’ crazy Nazi sect that died out in World War Two?” 

If only. 

Bucky nods softly, wishing that was the case. He can only tell Steve so much, enough to let him understand but not so much that he could be in danger. 

“They never ended,” Bucky whispers, turning to Steve, his whole body facing him, his flesh arm cold against the window, “they were never defeated, Steve. They’re still around.” 

Steve’s face goes through a myriad of emotions that Bucky is still trying to learn, so he continues. 

“I was captured by them, I worked for them,” Steve looks up quickly, breath caught somewhere in his ribcage, “I didn’t want to. I - I was… a prisoner. F-for a long time.” Bucky feels a tear fall from his left eye, running wet and cool down his cheek to the neck of his t-shirt. 

“Such a long time,” Bucky stares at his fingers in his lap, “I did so many terrible things.” 

Steve sniffles and moves closer, reaching a hand out in comfort, but Bucky can only move further away, shaking his head. He can’t look at him. He doesn’t deserve comfort.

“There’s so much I wanna tell you, Steve, but I can’t. Not yet.” 

Steve’s face looks soft and wet, “there’s lots you hold inside,” Steve mutters like a discovery, “so much I don’t know. I want to be here for you. Will you ever tell me anything?”

Bucky wants to say yes - he wants to mean it - he really does but he can only stay silent. Steve sucks in a hard breath. His phone beeps then. Natasha and Tony and whoeverfuckingelse need him back in the _war room_. 

Steve is staring into the distance, eyes unfocused on something beyond the window when Bucky looks at him. 

“I’ll be back soon, Stevie.” 

Steve doesn’t move as he gets up, as he walks away, as he leaves. 

Bucky isn’t sure what to think of it.

##

The apartment _is_ compromised. Hydra had clearly sent some goddamned intern if the disturbances are anything to go by. The same person who disrupted the facade of the building across the way. 

Natasha is behind him when she snorts, “любитель.” Her fingers dainty and considered as they move around the camera's sightlines. “In the Red Room, girls died for less.” 

Someone had put a camera in Steve’s bedroom. They had put two in Bucky’s room, in plants and books and lampshades, and the fucking _bathroom_. Someone has footage of Steve in the shower from their last night at home and Bucky will find that fucker and slice him apart, piece by piece, until there is nothing left but slivers of his flesh and the absence of memories of Steve’s pale skin. 

##

Bucky paces up and down the corridor outside the door to his old apartment in the Tower. The door looks the same, the corridor looks the same as the last time. 

He purposely doesn’t think about the rest of the team waiting for him in the common area. He needs to be here. Steve deserves at least this. 

Bucky knocks on the door and waits. He can hear two sets of breathing inside, one arrhythmic heartbeat, one steady, strong, consistent. 

Pepper answers the door with Steve close behind. She doesn’t say a word, just gives him a soft, encouraging smile, before she retreats and allows Steve to walk closer, head tipped forward. His eyes trail from Bucky’s boot-clad feet, up his black ensemble, across his leather-bound chest, and to his face. He hasn’t put his mask on yet, or his goggles, he doesn’t want to scare Steve before he leaves. 

“I’m going, Steve.” 

Steve frowns, “I figured.” The air between them is stifled, tense, Bucky tries to ignore the way Steve hugs himself, arms tight around his middle. 

“I have to finish Hydra,” he whispers, stepping forward, he thumbs away a tear that falls unthinking from Steve’s eye, “I gotta stop them.” 

Steve shudders and steps backward, looking up. Those wet eyes will be the death of him, his voice barely there. 

“Why does it have to be you?” 

Bucky sighs, “because I know them better than anyone.” 

Steve’s lip quivers and he looks back down at his feet, his hands clenched in his sleeves, “you’re leaving me again.” Bucky wants to just wrap him in his arms and never let him go. 

“I’m sorry. I’m… you can’t know how sorry I am.” 

Steve looks up then, shoving forward into Bucky’s space, hands suddenly tugging at the straps on Bucky’s chest, “then don’t go, don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me, I can’t lose you too,” he heaves in a hard breath, “I need you.” 

Bucky feels a warm, wet trail of something run down his cheek as he unwraps Steve’s fingers from his uniform. 

“I have to go.” 

Steve is shaking more now, his breathing labored and, fuck, if Bucky can’t help but feel his own chest compress unnaturally. The blonde pulls away, curling into his own body. 

“Then leave.” Bucky wants to interrupt, “just go!” Steve shouts, voice gruff like sandpaper. 

Bucky nods, eyes falling on Pepper in the background. She’s standing near the window and just nods once, arms crossed. He can trust her to take care of Steve while he’s gone, he knows it in his bones. There are few people he can trust but all of them are currently in this building. 

He tries to reach a hand out but Steve flinches away so Bucky nods once, before he turns and walks away, his steps heavy on the carpeted floor. 

Bucky stops. 

He turns around quickly and sees a tear drip from Steve’s face before he turns to shut the door. 

Bucky rushes back and wraps his arms so tight around Steve, ignoring his hiccuped breaths and how small hands push against his chest. He holds Steve to his body, one hand on his back and the other in his blonde hair. He trails his fingers through the soft golden strands and forces himself to feel the physical and emotional ramifications of his actions. Bucky feels the boy’s tears against his neck, the terrible broken sounds in his ear, and holds him until his breathing eases. 

Bucky leans back and holds Steve’s face between his palms. He gently thumbs away Steve’s tears and just stares into his eyes. Those blue eyes that brought him back from the precipice, the boy that saves him every day, that weak heart that beats strong like a lion. 

Bucky will come back to him. He’ll come back because he loves him with every fucking fiber of his being. And even if Steve doesn’t feel the same, it doesn't matter. Bucky wants him to know that he will fight, Bucky will always fight to come home to him.

“I love you, Steve, I’m so in love with you,” he whispers but the blonde’s tears continue to come, “and I’m gonna come back to you. I promise.” 

Steve’s devastated eyes study Bucky’s face like it’s the last time.

Bucky ignores the tears in his own eyes and presses a dry, papery kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth before he’s gone. Footsteps silent in the long corridor. 

Steve whimpers out a soft, “no,” a quieter, “Bucky, no.” He pretends he can’t hear Steve’s cries as he leaves or the sound of his erratic, heavy heartbeat or the dull thump of bony knees hitting the ground. The elevator arrives. 

Then there are rushed high heels on hardwood and Steve croaking, “Pepper, he-he -” 

He gets into the elevator and, once the doors close, he bites his fist so hard he draws blood. Bucky refuses to admit to himself that he is still crying.

“JARVIS, common room, please?” 

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes, of course.” 

Bucky closes his eyes and tries to pretend that he isn’t hyperventilating. He reaches the floor the rest of the team is on and, before the door opens, JARVIS speaks. 

“We will take care of him, sir.” 

Bucky can’t respond. 

Once he reaches the rest of the team, his face is dry, face covered in his mask and goggles. 

Tony - Iron Man - flicks his mask back and stares at Bucky, as if trying to read him, like Pepper had the time to tell him what just happened. She might have. 

“You ready, Barnes?” 

Bucky just nods once.

Then they’re off. 

##


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, the last chapter was pretty taxing and this chapter isn't much better.  
> HOWEVER, we are in the home stretch now and there are probably 3/4 chapters left.
> 
> Thanks so much for your comments on the last chapter and for reading, as always. 
> 
> Hope you're all doing well <3

##

Tony takes time off between bases. Sam too. Clint returns to his family on and off, while Natasha has other cases, responsibilities to Fury that she won’t let go. 

Bucky stays on the road. He knows that if he returns to Steve after just one Hydra base, or six or seven, he’ll never go back to searching. He can’t let that happen. Bucky won’t fuck up enough to let Steve be a target. For Steve to let his guard down. For _Bucky_ to let his guard down.

He’s not just gonna hit bases, he’s going to hit everything Hydra ever touched. 

##

Bucky begs Natasha for Steve’s new secure number. Only when he gives her the most pathetic spiel, does she offer up the goods. 

He steals a burner phone and texts Steve on Christmas morning. 

_I love you. I miss you._

Once it’s signaled as ‘delivered’, he throws it into the depths of the Danube. It’s calm and cold, frosty. Sometimes he forgets that he was ever warm. 

##

Bucky stays away. 

He stays away and travels from the USA to Columbia to Romania and further on to Japan. He visits safe-houses in Russia and Kenya and Oman. He raids the properties of current and former Hydra agents in the Bahamas, Iceland, and Cyprus.

Bucky trawls through the streets of Europe and the Middle East, Asia, and Africa, hitting anywhere there’s a whiff of Hydra. He takes down multiple figures he recognizes from his recent memory and ones he is told he met before. 

He leaves them alive, tied up, chained up, worse for wear and stinking of their own piss. He lets Natasha deal with the authorities; he’s long gone before they arrive. Most of them are dead by cyanide poisoning before he’s out the door. 

Bucky doesn’t want Hydra to think it’s an accident or a mistake. He wants them to be afraid. He wants them to know that there is only one person who could hunt them down like vermin and it’s him. Bucky wants them to feel like there is nowhere to hide, just like he did.

He doesn’t think of Steve often, he can’t. Steve has a secret, precious place in his heart that he can only think of in quiet, stolen moments. On a beach in Greece, the sky the same color as Steve’s eyes. Or one memorable time in Turkey, on the back of a truck with a driver from Roscommon, a thicker version of Sarah’s accent sweeping through his mind and making him warm for the first time since he left New York. 

He doesn’t consider going home even when Tony asks him to just a little too casually, or when they have taken out yet another base and Sam begs him, or Natasha tries to convince him when Hydra are scuttling away like he won’t be able to catch them. He will. 

Steve is in the Tower - as far as he’s been told - and he’s safe. 

Bucky had tried to ask Tony after a couple of months if Steve was healthy, if he was _happy_ , but a look crossed Tony’s face that Bucky had never seen before and he just told him to “go home and ask him yourself.” 

He can’t. He won’t. Not yet. 

##

Bucky is in India, following the trail of a level 8, in the corner of a dingy restaurant when the TV screen above the window suddenly catches his eye. 

SHIELD, HYDRA DOCS RELEASED. 

He knew it was coming, Natasha had managed to find him in Vietnam a few weeks before and told him as much but it still comes as a bit of a shock. 

Then the secondary headline beneath it makes his body run cold in the boiling Indian heat. 

THE WINTER SOLDIER - AMERICAN POW?

##

News of Alexander Pierce’s arrest breaks minutes later.

##

“You were our greatest creation,” the man gurgles in distinctly unaccented English but Bucky can still hear the faint trace of Russian origins on his lips. 

“You didn’t create me.” Bucky’s voice is soft, contemplative, he can feel it in his bones that it’s true. That he wasn’t created. He is so much more than what they thought they made. 

_Agent Volkov, Level 9 Hydra Agent. Obey above Level..._

Volkov grins but it settles like a sneer on his old face. _Yellow tinge to the skin - liver failure. Nine days approx. left to live._

_“Soldat was our greatest creation,”_ he whispers, language retreating to Russian, a glob of something glistening on his lower lip. _“Removing what made you Barnes…”_

“You didn’t give me anything or take it away.”

Bucky sits in the shadows, waiting. His body is still, heart rate steady, he stares at the old man who is barely a shadow of the intimidating man he once was. He was particularly more sadistic than the rest; he doesn’t deserve a bullet. He deserves to allow the disease to take him painfully. 

_“You… you were nothing before you were Soldat. A weak thing…”_ his breathing is labored and it gives Bucky some perverse satisfaction. _“Give your arm to Tony Stark. That arm was ahead of anything his absent father could do.”_

Bucky doesn’t allow himself to flinch. This old man knows the details of Bucky’s life. Even with his health in this state. Hydra had been watching this entire time. 

_“Defecting?”_ Volkov sniggers and now he’s just doing his bad guy monologue but, instead of interrupting or pretending he doesn’t care, Bucky does. He wants to know it all before he burns them to the fucking ground. _“You thought you escaped like we couldn’t have kept you. Like we weren’t watching you.”_

He hacks up something sticky from the depths of his torso and spits it in Bucky’s general direction, it misses by multiple feet and Bucky snorts an unamused laugh. 

_“Was only a matter of time before Stark made another arm, a little pet project, then we’d take you back. Take what we need and decommission.”_

Volkov turns and grins then, his false teeth brown around the edges. 

_“And your little blonde neighbor.”_

Bucky freezes until Volkov is laughing so hard he’s breathless with it. 

Turns out Volkov did deserve a bullet after all. 

##


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR YOUR RESPONSE TO THE LAST CHAPTER. I appreciate it. 
> 
> We're in the home stretch now, guys, so I hope you enjoy the next few chapters that will finish up the story. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: blood, hospitalization, some dissociation, hopefully nothing too bad! 
> 
> Again, thanks for your ongoing love of this fic. Be safe <3

##

A little over seven months after he left, Bucky returns for good. Not with a glorious march through the streets of New York, but by speeding through the corridors of the Tower on a gurney, three bullets in the gut, and a six-inch blade that went clean through his thigh, 0.2 inches away from the femoral artery. 

He’s still alive, however, and Hydra isn’t. And isn’t that the biggest ‘fuck you’ of all? They destroyed his life for seventy years and he was the one to put a knife through the heart. 

Hydra fell. Along with the Triskelion and SHIELD itself. 

Bucky is bleeding like a faucet all over the gurney and he can feel his belly try to knit back around the bullets still inside him. They’re waiting for the elevator when he tries to get up, and _boy_ was that a mistake and there are Bruce and a nurse trying to get him to lie back down. 

“I gotta see Steve,” he grits through his teeth, wrenching their hands off him. 

“Jesus, man, you can’t see him like this!” 

Bucky pulls away from Bruce’s well-meaning hands and grunts when he falls sideways against the wall. It’s hard to breathe, the walls and floors are moving, did that always happen? Knowing Tony it’s probably a new feature. But Bruce’s face is a little fuzzy and then he’s sitting and, fuck, that’s some intense pain. 

_Blood loss: 42%. See handler for maintenance._

“B-blood loss, 42%,” Bucky hears his own voice mumble, “I don’t have a fuckin’ handler.” 

Bruce is frowning and there are black and yellow spots beyond him and his breathing is too fast. It’s _freezing_ but isn’t it, like, May? June? Why is it so cold? But it’s warm too, too warm, he’s sitting in something wet and it’s dark red under him and he pushes his fingers through the red but there’s someone swearing and trying to pull it away. He’s moving again, dizzy, but it’s not hard anymore, there’s something soft under him and his heart rate is still too high. Rapid breathing and he can’t control his arms and he’s _tired_ like bone tired and he hasn’t ever felt tiredness like it since the war when it was cold and everyone smelled of shit and sweat and piss and he was so hungry all the time and other soldiers were falling beside him and he could only watch from a perch when he shot through the heads of other young men fighting in a war that had nothing to do with them and the smell of death was something he would never forget but then he’s moving and he can’t close his eyes but it’s just bright and white and there are muffled voices around him like he’s underwater. He’s tired and he wants Steve to hug him, _Steve_ he almost forgot. 

“Sssste -” he feels like he’s trying to push the words out of someone else’s mouth, his lips are rubbery and useless and his tongue lolls in his mouth like a dead fish, limp and sour. “St-st…” 

Some nice voice is near his head, or what he thinks is his head and his eyes are slipping shut but he’s fighting it, he has to fight it to stay for Steve. It’s been a lifetime since he saw him and he’s the reason he wanted another stupid arm and it’s just so heavy beside him and he can’t move it and it’s supposed to just hold Steve forever and he wants him, “here…” 

“He’s coming, he’ll be here when you wake up,” but he doesn’t want to go asleep, he wants to see Steve and hold him with two arms and how soft he feels. His forehead is creased into a painful line, he tries to shake his head but is it even attached to his neck? He can’t move, it’s so hard to move and he’s so tired and he wants to just lie down in his bed at _home_ with Steve and… 

There are more people around then, with gowns and masks and he can’t see their faces and his heart-rate skyrockets again before plummeting. He might be - 

_Body shock imminent._

It’s freezing and his teeth are chattering and he’s just out of cryo and he’s trying to tell them that it’s so cold he’s boiling alive inside and his fingers are still blue and the skin is peeling away and his eyes are wet and his lips barely move, it’s so bright around them and there’s beeping, frantic beeping and - 

“B-b-body shhhock imminimmin -” 

Bucky hears someone swear and it’s a calm voice and sounds like Bruce but he can’t be sure and their movements grow more erratic. 

“Steeeeve,” his own voice is muffled to his ears. It’s cold and he’s so tired but he needs - 

“I’m here, Buck.” 

It’s Steve’s voice! Bucky… Bucky tries to, he tries to open his eyes, eyeballs moving, wants to see Steve. He wants to see and he feels a slim hand on his arm and it’s nice, pressure, tender, soft. 

##

Awake.  
Не шевелись.  
Продолжайте дышать со скоростью сна.  
Оценить… 

Bucky becomes aware of his own wakefulness when he feels how warm his skin is and how _dry_ his mouth is. He opens his mouth, peels his own tongue from the inside of his mouth. It feels like velcro and his saliva isn’t being produced the way it should and he’s never been so thirsty. His eyes are crusty, stuck together, he has to pry them open like he’s never blinked before. So goddamn dry. Like his whole body is just _dry_ from the inside out.

Bucky glances around the room, that soft bed is in the corner like it was after his arm operation, The light is low like the sun is climbing over the horizon. 

_Approx. 4:58 am_

The room and the building and the world around him are quiet, so silent he can focus on the breeze outside, the early morning traffic in the city that never sleeps. He turns his head and there’s _Steve_ and god if it doesn’t hit him straight in the heart. Tears fill his eyes, soothing his dry lashes and he whispers, “Steve?” 

God, he’s so tired but when Steve rouses, those eyes like a summer sky settling on him, moving to his side before his body is fully awake. 

“Bucky?” 

His name on Steve’s lips. Tears fall from Bucky’s eyes as he studies Steve’s face, the blonde takes Bucky’s face between his hands, wiping them as fast as they fall. 

“Steve…” The tears continue even as his lids grow heavy. Steve is here. He’s warm and safe. 

“Buck, hey, hey, I said I’d get the nurse when you woke up. You gotta stay awake.” And Steve is pressing a button by his head but he’s so tired and Steve’s touch soothes him and sleep is calling because Steve is _here_ and he isn’t alone. He’s not alone anymore and he loves Steve with every fiber of his - 

“Bucky, c’mon,” 

Steve’s voice is soft and Bucky grumbles happily, sleep taking him once again. 

##

The next time Bucky wakes it’s dark. _Approx. 11.15 pm_ There’s someone holding his hand and when he looks down, Steve is sitting - sleeping - in a chair beside his bed, hands wrapped tightly around Bucky’s own and his head resting against the mattress. He looks so uncomfortable, it can’t be good for his twisted back. He should be in bed. 

Bucky reaches over and gently rests his metal hand against Steve’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly. 

“Hey, Steve,” he keeps his voice soft, and can’t help but snort when Steve grumbles a little, snuggling further into Bucky’s hand. “You gotta wake up, sweetheart, c’mon.” 

Steve smacks his deep pink lips together and sits up suddenly, eyes squinting in an attempt to focus on Bucky’s face. 

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, a tentative smile on his face. What he wasn’t expecting was for Steve to take one look at him and burst into inconsolable tears. His hands are pressed tightly to his face, and his sobbing scratches uncomfortably at Bucky’s heart. 

“Steve, hey, Stevie, c’mon, c’mere,” his voice is gruff and Steve just shakes his head, whole body trembling. “Please, sweetheart,” and Bucky is reaching out, wrapping gentle fingers around his thin wrist, pulling it away from his face. 

Steve is gasping in breaths, struggling, pulling his arm from Bucky’s grip, and he’s suddenly searching, frantic, in his backpack, pulling out his inhaler and taking long, deep breaths of the steroid medicine. 

Bucky just watches quietly, worried that Steve managed to stress himself into an attack, that _Bucky_ managed to stress him that much. 

They sit in silence, Steve getting his breathing back under control. He won’t meet Bucky’s eyes and Bucky can feel his heart rate speed up, anxiety coursing through him, the machine connected to him beeping wildly out of control. When the change becomes obvious, Steve’s eyes fly up and he looks between Bucky and the machine. 

Silently, Steve stands up and climbs up onto the bed, curling his head under Bucky’s chin, careful of his wounds. His small body shakes so Bucky wraps tender arms around him and stays silent, though his mind is screaming at him to say something, anything. 

“Sorry, I-I… it’s been a long few days,” Steve murmurs, voice rough and scratchy, “months.” Bucky doesn’t know what to say so he decides to just stay silent. 

Steve is soft against him, even thinner than he was when Bucky left, skin drier, his hair smelling like apples and his clothes have that neutral industrial laundry smell. Small signs of what’s changed since Bucky left, since he left Steve. 

Then, “you called me sweetheart.” 

Bucky tries not to stiffen at that. Did he do wrong? He swallows, “is that okay?” 

Steve just nods against his neck, pale fingers wrapped in Bucky’s gown. Then he’s shivering and the tears return, cooling against Bucky’s collarbone. 

“Steve, Steve,” he whispers, lips against his golden hair, “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I won’t leave you again. I mean it, I won’t. I’m here to stay if you’ll have me.” 

The only sounds Steve produces are these breathy little hiccups like he’s struggling to get his breathing under control. It’s quiet for a while, Bucky holding Steve to him, ignoring the twinge of his wounds. 

“Every day,” Steve begins, trembling, “every day, I asked Pepper if you were still alive…” 

Suddenly, the other Avengers pleas for him to contact Steve, to return to see him, make so much more sense. He can’t even say anything so he stays silent. 

“Every night, I-I had nightmares and, an’ in the morning, I’d wake and call Pepper first thing and make sure you were still alive… Didn’t, didn’t matter where you were, so long as you were still out there.” 

Bucky holds back his words. He knows he owes it to Steve to listen. 

“I missed you so much, you can’t -” he heaves in a painful sob, “you can’t understand how much I missed you…” Steve’s voice trails into a whisper, “it was like part of me was gone.” 

Bucky responds by pressing soft, chaste kisses to his hair, pulling him in as close as he can. 

“I’ll never leave you again. It’s done. It’s over.” 

Steve is sniffling quietly, shuddering, until his body relaxes and Bucky realizes he’s asleep. Bucky wraps the blanket around both of them and settles in to sleep. 

##


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. They are finally back together and there is one more chapter to go after this one. 
> 
> Thanks SO MUCH for everyone's comments, y'all are the sweetest. ALSO, I have a question - how would you feel about a sequel from Steve's POV... would it be worth it? Would it take away from the initial story? I have some ideas, some written, it would be more light-hearted and a bit more fun. With some angst thrown in BECAUSE I CAN'T HELP IT. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know in the comments if this would be something you would like. I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> Be safe, be kind <3

##

Bucky awakes at close to 6 am _6.14 am_ and Steve is still curled against him, a dead weight against Bucky’s side, his thin chest pressed to Bucky’s torso, his head on Bucky’s shoulder. He can’t help pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead, his heart fit to burst. 

He just then realizes that there are two breakfast trays on the table beside him and his cheeks flare hot at the thought of someone seeing them like this, that he didn’t even sense someone in their room. That Steve was left vulnerable. 

“Steve, hey Stevie, you hungry?” Bucky mumbles into sleep-warmed skin but Steve doesn’t move. 

Bucky eats breakfast one-handed and waits for the doctor to come by.

##

Steve sleeps straight through one doctor’s visit and two nurses. Bucky gave the nurses some serious sad eyes when they tried to move Steve so they just applied new bandages without disturbing him. The wounds have all but disappeared anyway.

Pepper arrives quietly, as pristine as ever, and smiles at the sight of them together. She hands him a StarkPad. 

“For you to get reacquainted with the news and the world.” 

Her eyes settle on Steve then and she gives a small, sad smile. 

“He hasn’t slept well,” she murmurs like she’s revealing a secret, “not for a long time.” She meets Bucky’s concerned eyes, “but now you’re back, seems that’s all he needed.” 

Pepper leaves just as quickly and quietly as she arrived but Bucky is left with the pain of guilt settling on his chest.

Steve begins to stir around 1 pm when the lunch turns up. He grumbles and presses his nose to Bucky’s neck, inhaling deeply. Then sleepy blue eyes open and Bucky watches as the blonde roughly rubs his eyes, sleep-rumpled and beautiful. 

“Hey Stevie,” he whispers and those eyes settle on him. 

“Time’s it?” His already low voice is rough from lack of use. 

“About one, you’re just in time for lunch.” Steve nods but doesn’t move, stays clinging to Bucky’s body. 

Bucky rubs his arm, “you hungry?” Steve nods again but doesn’t move like he’s interested in the food nearby. Bucky isn’t really sure what to do, what Steve wants so he just lies there, running his fingers up and down Steve’s curved back. 

Bucky looks at the two plates of sandwiches before looking back down at the top of Steve’s head. He uses the little remote to sit the bed up so they are resting at a higher angle. Then Bucky reaches over and grabs a plate, resting it in his lap. Steve immediately takes a sandwich without removing himself from Bucky’s body and nibbles at it, his head against Bucky’s chest. In response, Bucky presses a kiss to his hair. 

They finish both plates, 80-20 but still, and a bag of chips that one of the nurses left in reach just before the door swings open dramatically. Before they look up, they know it’s Tony. 

Tony takes one look at them, Steve curled against Bucky’s torso, and stops in the middle of the room, Dr. Cho accidentally running into his back where her face is focused on something on her tablet. 

“Well if that is not the cutest shit I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what is.” 

Bucky feels Steve tense against him, trying to pull away, but Bucky keeps him in place, he might even be able to detect a modicum of sincerity in Tony’s voice. 

Dr. Cho rolls her eyes at Tony and proceeds to walk around him, a StarkPad in her hand that she studies with a serious face. 

“So, James, your wounds are healing nicely, as we expected. We removed the bullets and -” 

Tony interrupts, “boy howdy, that was messy. _Jesus_ it was like Freddy Kruger and Pinhead mated in there! And not in a sexy, kinky way, but in like a terrible orgy kinda way where you might happen to get crabs from a vinyl couch and see the absolute _biggest_ co-” 

“Tony!” 

“... and the bullets splintered off and you started to _heal over them_. We could _see_ it happen live,” Tony’s eyes light up, “it was magnificent. I recorded it for my personal collection.” 

Bucky would rather not know what Tony means by that, moreover, he can’t help but feel suspicious at Steve’s lack of shock in his healing abilities. 

Tony continues, “and remember all your bitching and complaining about donating blood when you first arrived here? Saying we were gonna,” he strokes his goatee, “what was it? Steal your blood and create little murderbots?” 

Bucky’s cheeks heat at that, so maybe he wasn’t exactly in his right mind back then. Seventy years of torture will do that to a guy. 

“You finished?” Bucky groans. 

“Not at all!” Tony continues, “we took four liters of blood when you were here and guess what? You needed almost as much when you came back with lacerations in several vital organs! Who’da thunk it?” 

Dr. Cho rolls her eyes again and begins to talk, cutting Tony off before he can say anything more. 

“Yes, your blood was very useful to have on-hand, and, due to your healing, you should be able to donate again soon. To make sure we have a stock of appropriate serum-positive blood for your future use.” 

Bucky can feel Steve tense at that, “he won’t need it again! He’s not-” sitting up, he turns to face Bucky, “you’re not fighting again, right?” 

Steve’s features are creased in fear, tentative hope, concern. 

“I’m not gonna fight again,” Bucky runs his knuckles down Steve’s cheek, it’s powder-soft, “but it’d be good to have my blood on-hand for something unforeseen.” 

Steve’s mouth presses into a line, “but no fighting.” 

A smile tugs at Bucky’s lips, “no fighting.” 

Steve doesn’t smile, just stares with a frown, “and you won’t leave again, not like that.” 

“I won’t leave again.” 

Steve seems to accept that and settles back against Bucky. When he looks up, Tony’s eyebrows are almost in his hairline and Dr. Cho has a secret little smile playing on her lips while she studiously does not look in their direction. 

Then Tony is attempting to make a sound like a bad whip sound effect. Bucky knows what it means but lets his face remain purposefully blank. 

“Soooooo,” Tony continues, “you’re all sprite and ready to go, in spite of your surprisingly advanced age -” 

Dr. Cho cuts Tony off and whatever she’s getting paid. Is. Not. Enough. 

“You can go up to your apartment for a few days and check-in with us every so often but you’re all good to go!” 

##


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it! THANKS TO EVERYONE who has commented and kudosed and read along the way. I've had a great time writing this and these adorable assholes have kept me company whilst in isolation. 
> 
> I'm so happy that others have enjoyed this fic and hopefully it helped get people out of their heads for the few minutes it took to read a chapter. 
> 
> I have a sequel planned with a Steve POV so look out for that. ALSO now that I have started writing Stucky I. CANNOT. STOP. 
> 
> Thanks for coming on this journey.
> 
> Be kind, be safe.

##

Bucky and Steve return to ~~his~~ their floor soon after with the explicit promise not to leave the Tower without a doctor’s express permission. Bucky rolls his eyes because he’s basically healed until the doctor reminds him that he needed _four liters_ of blood when he arrived. 

The apartment is bright and tidy and Steve looks confused. 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, wandering around the space and noticing little changes from Steve’s seven months here. Large canvases turned to the wall, a desk by the window covered in cups of pens and paintbrushes and paints all stacked tidily. 

“Jus-just, um, cleaner than how I left it?” A deep pink blush covering his cheeks, ”wasn’t exactly in the best headspace to-to clean much.” 

Bucky feels out of place all of a sudden. Sure, he figures that Steve is grateful that he’s home but there is so much more to talk about and he’s just here, in this place that’s been Steve’s home for seven months and he’s just infiltrating on it and - 

“Do you want me here?” 

Steve looks up suddenly from his place by the window, eyes wide, mouth open on a gasp. 

“What?” 

Bucky swallows a phantom lump in his dry throat, “I just arrived back and, and just imposed myself on you and… Tony has plenty of space, if you want to, I dunno, think about things, about me…” 

“No!” And he suddenly looks so _desperate_ , voice high and shaking, “you can’t! You c-can’t leave me, not again. St-stop leaving me!” 

And, fuck, he looks so small, highlighted by the summer sun. Bucky stumbles forward a step, hand reaching out before he touches. 

“I just don’t want to overwhelm you, Steve, I don’t wanna hurt you again.” 

Steve looks like he can barely keep himself upright, whispering, “you being here wouldn’t ever hurt me.” And then Bucky is moving, wrapping his arms tight around the blonde’s small body, lifting him up so his toes barely touch the ground. 

Then Steve is whispering, “just stay, stay, stay with me. Don’t go.” 

Bucky presses his nose to Steve’s neck and breathes him in, “not again, I won’t go, not if you want me here.” 

##

Their afternoon and evening consists of Steve stubbornly keeping Bucky within arm’s reach. All but following him to the bathroom but, honestly, Bucky is more than happy to hold Steve in his arms after all this time. He’s sure now that Steve is as starved for touch as he is. 

Once they’ve eaten and the sky is dark grey and swollen with clouds, they lie on the couch in sweats, the air quiet and tentative between them. 

Steve falls asleep soon after, body loose against Bucky. 

Bucky is watching ‘Bob’s Burgers’ when Steve stirs, a whimper against his chest. Bucky tightens his arm around his back, pressing his lips to Steve’s forehead. The pained little noises continue and it sounds so like the noises he heard through the wall in their apartment so many months ago.

Bucky makes soft little shushing sounds against his hair, “you’re safe, sweetheart. Won’t let nothing hurt you.” But the whimpering grows into desperate groans from behind clenched teeth, slender fingers wrapped rigidly in Bucky’s shirt, and Bucky becomes more worried, tightening his hold, he looks at Steve’s face and there’s a tense frown in his features. 

“Steve, hey, hey, c’mon, it’s okay, I won’t leave you again. Promise. I love you, sweetheart… So much. I love you, I love y-” Bucky murmurs those three words into Steve’s hair until he wakes suddenly, tension in his limbs. 

Steve immediately looks up and, when he sees Bucky’s face, he crumples, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck and squeezing tightly. Bucky can only rub his back and mumble nonsense into his ear. 

After a few minutes, Steve shudders into his neck, “you’re not hurt now?” 

Bucky’s heart cracks in half, “not anymore, Steve, I promise.” 

“An’ you’re gonna stay? A-always?” 

Bucky swallows, running his fingers through that soft hair. 

“Always.” 

Steve is shaking, nerves wracking his small body. Bucky takes the throw from the back of the couch and tucks it around Steve, as tight as it’ll go, where the blonde is half on top of his chest. Steve’s slim arms are shivering violently, outside of his control. Then he starts to speak. 

“I was so _mad_ , Buck. I, fuck, I was s-so angry that you left again, that you left me,” he sucks in a desperate breath, “I felt so alone. I didn’t understand how you could, how you could k-kiss me and say all those things and then leave like that…” 

Now that Bucky has him back in his arms, he doesn’t know how he did it either. 

“I, I wasn’t eating… The nightmares stopped me from sleeping much. Pepper made me start going to a therapist,” Steve finally looks up and makes eye contact, “her name is Monica and she’s really nice but, but doesn’t let me away with shit.” Steve smiles a little, eyes traveling over Bucky’s face, “reminds me of ma.” 

Steve tucks his head back under Bucky’s chin, it takes him a while to start speaking again. “You - when you sent that text at Christmas, I… I was furious, I’d never been so angry… Inconsolable, didn’t wanna talk about you, think about you… I was confused about, about what was happenin’ an-and I _hated_ you. Fuck, Bucky, I hated you so much,” he ends on a strangled whimper. 

But they’re here now, Steve wants him here and Bucky can’t pretend that he didn’t think Steve would take one look at him and scream bloody murder. 

So Bucky speaks then, breath caught somewhere between his chest and mouth, “what changed? Wh-why am, why are you being so good about everything?” 

Steve turns his face into Bucky’s skin and mumbles words but they are clear as fucking day to Bucky’s ears. 

“James Buchanan Barnes. 32557038. Codename: The Winter Soldier.” 

An icy cold wave of dread crashes over Bucky. 

Bucky tries to push Steve away, pulls his arms from around his body, and sits back so far he might topple off the couch. Steve won’t have it though, he just grabs Bucky’s face in his hands, his legs coming up to wrap surprisingly firm around Bucky’s thighs in an attempt to keep him in place. 

“No! You don’t get to leave again, not now! You sit there and you fucking listen to me!” 

Steve’s face is paper-white and filled with rage. Bucky is so shocked he just blinks a few times and nods. 

Steve looks desperate, determined, frantic hands on his cheeks holding his head in place. 

“I saw your file. The Hydra files… I read every word, _every word_ , didn’t even sleep til I finished it,” he stares into Bucky’s eyes. Bucky knows it was tens, maybe even hundreds of thousands of words, he doesn’t think he wants to know how long it took.

This is it. This is when Steve tells him he knows everything, all of the terrible things he did. Steve knows it all now. Knows Bucky’s history, all of the violence. Bucky wishes he could have told Steve himself. 

“What they did to you… Bucky, I’d never - I’d never imagined that people could do that,” Steve’s eyes water, lips turned down into a frown, “I knew you must’ve been through so much, like army stuff an-and whatever happened to your arm but…” 

Steve tightens his hold on Bucky’s face and he can’t look away. Bucky can feel himself shaking. 

“The news and articles and psychologists or whatever said it was the worst case of torture they’d heard of, so bad they almost didn’t believe it,” Steve grows silent, eyes staring into the middle distance over Bucky’s shoulder like he’s thinking, remembering.

“But they don’t know you the way we do, how I do. Even I… I almost can’t believe that you can be the amazing man you are after everything you’ve been through.” 

Bucky’s shocked. His heart thumps wildly. 

“What?” Bucky shakes his head but it doesn’t dislodge Steve’s touch, “I don’t understand…” 

Steve studies every inch of Bucky’s face and he can’t help but shrink under the attention. 

“I can’t believe a person could come out of that and love as deeply, love _me_ after everything they did to you.” Steve leans in closer. “They took your arm, your memories, and your mind and tried to break you but they didn’t succeed.” 

Bucky feels warm tears lap at the corners of his eyes. 

“They did though, Steve, they got -” 

“No!” Steve grips the sides of his neck and pulls him closer and Bucky has never seen him like this. “You got away, you got away and you fucking _beat_ them.” 

Bucky’s never seen anything as beautiful as Steve right now, this moment he’ll tuck into his heart and never forget. Like an angel here to rain righteous fury on the world.

“You know how you beat them?” 

Bucky shakes his head so Steve continues. 

“You beat them b-by being the kindest, strongest, most loving person I’ve ever met, in spite of everything they did. All the cruelty, the… the torture…” 

A sad smile breaks out across Steve’s face. 

“ _Then_ you finished them.” 

Bucky hasn’t really come to terms with it yet, that Hydra is gone, finished, dead. Though he will always look over his shoulder, he can relax, he can concentrate on other things. He might even sell his scope. 

Steve’s forehead is against his when the blonde whispers, “I never got a chance to say it before but I love you too, course I do.” He sniffles, “there were so many times I almost, when I thought -” 

Bucky only realizes he’s crying when he feels the tears tickle his cheeks and Steve’s attempt to wipe them away, making soft little shushing noises. He trails his eyes over Steve’s face, sucking in a breath, before Bucky is whispering. 

“You love me?” 

Steve bites back a soft smile, “I thought it was so obvious. How could I not?” 

Bucky can’t stop the tears now that they’ve started and he tries to stifle them in Steve’s neck. Bucky can feel it in his chest, all of the fear, the desperation, the self-hatred, all of the things he felt for leaving Steve that way. It’s tense in his chest and bubbles to the surface. 

“I didn’t, I mean, I couldn’t imagine you’d forgive me, let me back in like this… after everything?” 

Steve sighs, the motion making Bucky’s hair move, but when he speaks, his voice is strong. 

“I didn’t understand it then but I do now,” he stops, as if to gather his words, “I had a while to-to think of you, of everything in those files.” Steve leans back and meets Bucky’s eyes with a steely gaze, “there’s nothing to forgive.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Bucky chokes out, arms wrapped tight so Steve is settled close to his chest. 

“You deserve all good things,” Steve whispers, he snorts a wet laugh then, “except I’m not a good thing.” 

Bucky is shaking, his mind filled with images of what could have happened, what might have happened. If Hydra managed, if they had gotten their hands on St- 

“They were watching us, Steve, they were gonna take me… T-take you.” 

Steve’s fingers are soft in his hair, against his skin, “I know, Bucky, it’s okay. Tony told me.” 

And Steve’s voice is so steady, like this is somehow _normal_ it cracks something apart inside Bucky. His voice is closer to a growl than he would like. 

“How are you so calm about all this? Everything that happened?”

Steve leans down, his mouth next to Bucky’s ear, his voice soft. 

“You would never let anyone hurt me.” 

Bucky falls silent. Steve’s trust in him warming some long-forgotten part, the place where he kept Steve buried for seven months. He breathes him in, warm and cottony, thinner in Bucky’s arms than before. 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for your ma’s anniversary,” Bucky whispers, shame bubbling in his chest like nausea, pulling away. But Steve just smiles, a small thing, shaking his head. 

“You arrived back on the day,” blue eyes meet Bucky’s, “bleeding and out of it but you were here and alive…” Steve’s voice drops to a whisper, “she brought you back to me.” 

Bucky looks at Steve like he’s never seen him before, “Stevie…” 

Steve presses his forehead to Bucky’s, closing his eyes, smiling softly, “she’s always looking out for us.” 

Bucky studies that face that has accompanied him in his memories. Those long lashes, so much darker than his blonde hair, the delicate smattering of freckles across the bridge of a crooked nose, sky blue eyes that look at him so softly, with such love that Bucky wonders how he never noticed it before. Bucky traces his thumbs down those cheekbones, jaw, neck. His eyes linger on plush pink lips. 

“Kiss me?” 

Steve’s face lights up with a smile Bucky has missed for seven months and he suddenly feels every single one of them. The blonde leans in, his eyes flicking from Bucky’s eyes to his lips and back and forth again. 

Then their lips properly meet for the first time. 

Time doesn’t stand still, like he’s been lead to believe. It speeds up and slows down in equal measure. Bucky tries to log every feeling but he can’t keep up with what is coursing through his body. Every atom on alert, every neuron firing, hairs standing on end, the heat of his skin. Steve’s lips are soft, wet when Bucky breaks away to suck Steve’s bottom lip gently between his own. Their kiss is chaste and gentle and it warms the icy parts that Bucky didn’t know still existed in his body like he’s sinking his cold toes into a hot bath. 

Steve’s fingers are in his hair and against his skin and they are comforting and a little cool to the touch but gentle like no other touch Bucky has known. Then the blonde is pulling away, whispering into Bucky’s mouth. 

“Does this mean we can go back home?” 

Bucky feels a little smile curl his lips, heart warm, and beating a steady thump in his ribcage before he’s wrapping his hand around the back of Steve’s neck. 

“Sweetheart, you are my home.” 

Steve laughs, tears still clinging to his lashes, “you are the cheesiest fucki -” 

Bucky proceeds to find the best way to shut him up. 

Fin… for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos/constructive criticism are all welcomed and appreciated because I'm a whore for it.


End file.
